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■yt BOOK OF METHODS 


WILLIAM MORTENSEH 


















































• 

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1 A..- 


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Copyright 1936 

Camera Craft Publishing Company 
San Francisco 


Other Books By 

WILLIAM MORTENSEN 
Projection Control 
Pictorial Lighting 


























































































. 


































































































































































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MONSTERS & 
MADONNAS 


by 

WILLIAM MORTENSEN 

it 


CAMERA CRAFT PUBLISHING COMPANY 
San Francisco, California 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































MONSTERS AND MADONNAS 



“/t is working within limits that the artist reveals himself.** 

—Goethe. 

“You can*t fool me. I’m too ignorant.** 

—Joe Penner. 


The Dual Substance of Art 

In every art practiced by man it is noticeable that there 
are two contributing elements, the harmonious rela¬ 
tionship of which makes the complete art. Every art 
has a mechanical and scientific basis and an expressive 
and creative superstructure. Most of the arts realize 
themselves so readily into expression and creation that 
the layman is scarcely conscious of the mechanical and 
scientific basis. Thus the art of painting depends upon 
the delicate chemistry of pigments, the oxidation of 
such mediums as linseed oil, and upon the use of a few 
simple mechanical aids. Music depends upon the diffi¬ 
cult science of acoustics, and upon the mechanical 
design of a large variety of complicated instruments; 
and as it is commonly experienced today it is further 
conditioned by the intricate technical problems of 
electrical transcription or radio broadcasting. And be¬ 
hind the art of architecture there lies a large amount 
of specialized engineering knowledge of stresses, strains, 
and strengths of materials. 

In these arts the layman is not commonly aware of 
this scientific and mechanical background. The me¬ 
chanical and scientific facts and factors serve their 
end unostentatiously. The chemist does not dictate 
the color of the Virgin’s mantle, nor the radio tech¬ 
nician stipulate the tempo of a Beethoven symphony. 
There is no obvious mass of somewhat related, but com¬ 
pletely unassimilated, knowledge. 

How different is the situation that we find when we 
come to consider photography. In this field there is 
an over-whelming and almost exclusive devotion to the 
mechanical and physical aspects of the art. Even the 
layman is aware of this. Put two photographers to¬ 
gether, and what do they talk about? Cameras. A new 
kind of film. Grain. Filter factors. Physical develop¬ 
ment. Grain. Paraphenyline-diamine. Printing papers. 
Grain. Panchromatisation. Gamma. Grain. What kind 
of a lens does Misonne use? Formulas. Focal lengths. 
Grain. Eastman. Agfa. Du Pont. Gaevert. Perutz. 
Grain. . . . And is there ever any suggestion, any 


vague hint, that these things have any use, any pur¬ 
pose, beyond that of amusing and providing conversa¬ 
tion for amateurs? There is not. 

This peculiar anomaly of a mechanically dominated 
art is due to two causes. In the first place, in photogra¬ 
phy (and in no other art) the instrument and the 
method preceded the art. In the other arts the scientific 
element and the expressive element have largely grown 
up together, keeping pace with each other, and each 
contributing to the other’s development. But photogra¬ 
phy arrived on the scene already weighted down with 
much irelevant knowledge. This body of useless erudi¬ 
tion has been much expanded by technicians unwilling 
to relinquish what they consider their prior rights. 

The second cause of photography’s predicament is 
the unhappy facility with which superficial photo¬ 
graphic facts and procedures may be learned. When a 
man buys a camera, he considers himself ipso facto 
half a photographer. When he has owned it a week, he 
considers himself an advanced amateur. When he has 
owned it a month, he considers himself a photographic 
authority. In no other art does such a preposterous 
condition exist. The purchase of a piano (even if it is a 
Steinway) does not make one a Rachmaninoff—or even 
an Eddie Duchin. But the damnable mechanical in¬ 
genuity of the camera attracts to the field of photogra¬ 
phy thousands of bright young men whose sole quali¬ 
fication is the fact that they are mechanically ingenious. 
Many talents are now devoted to photography that 
could turn out a mousetrap that would set the world 
on fire. 

Of course every art has its mechanical dabblers and its 
scientific dilletantes. But nowhere else do they so pre¬ 
sume to run the show—and to get away with it—as in 
photography. 

In the approach to any other art there is a clear dis¬ 
tinction made between the technical fact which is 
immediately applicable , and the scientifically related 
fact which is technically irrelevant. No one would 

©Cl ft 95716 

3 ^- l^<» 3 


JUN 16 1936 




presume to seriously practice any other art without 
extended instruction from a master. This instruction 
would give him manual dexterity through arduous 
finger exercises; it would clarify his sense perceptions 
and his means of expression; it would give him an 
appreciation of the tradition of his art; and it would 
clarify his vision of what he wanted to do with his skill. 


The machine shows itself in the exaggerated importance 
attached to films. All the characteristics of all the 
different makes of films are subjected to comparison 
and cross-reference. Factors of speed, colour correc¬ 
tion, and contrast are worked out to several decimal 
points. But very seldom does anyone think of using 
the films to take pictures. 

With printing paper there is a similar wanton multi¬ 
plication of difficulties. This basic commodity is pro¬ 
vided in a huge variety of textures, weights and con¬ 
trasts and in all possible permutations of these variants. 
There are also very extensive documentary manifesta¬ 
tions of the machine, bulky volumes of exposure tables 
and equations, lists of formulas and factors, graphs 
and gammas. These things, while not outwardly allur¬ 
ing, exert a terrific fascination on those amateurs who 
have incautiously partaken of them. 

As a final manifestation of the Machine, may we cite 
the demoralizing influence of those tiny, pestiferous, 
gnat-like, swarming Monsters—gadgets. Some of these 
excrescences are infernally clever, and some are wit- 
lessly inane; but clever or witless they are unequalled 
as a means whereby photographers may waste time, 
money and energy. Those afflicted with gadgets lose 
all sense of proportion, and like the White Knight who 
equipped his horse with a mouse trap, a bee hive, and 
protection against the bites of sharks, they carry on in 
their conviction that “it’s well to be provided for every¬ 
thing.” So they lay in large stocks of supernumerary 
lenses and filters; they acquire lights by the dozens and 
light meters to measure them with; they fill up their 
darkrooms with mysterious apparatus, concerning the 
use of which the very inventors are a little vague. The 
real need for such an article seems not to affect in the 
slightest either the maker or the purchaser of a gadget. 
It simply satisfies the eternal juvenile craving for some¬ 
thing new and nickle-plated. 

By a natural association of ideas, the mention of 
gadgets brings us to the consideration of the miniature 
camera. 

The miniature camera has become the particular 
stamping ground of the Popular Mechanics graduates 
and the Boy Blacksmiths. Thanks to the engineering 
genius of its designers and the precision processes of 
its makers, the miniature instrument is fundamentally 
a magnificent Camera; but it has been transformed by 
these lads into a super-Gadget, which is constantly 
giving birth to little gadgets. The fairly simple pro¬ 
cedure of taking a picture has been converted into a 
terrific equation, including factors, Scheiners, gammas 
and other items from the Greek alphabet. Even if one 
were enough of an Einstein to solve the equation, the 
answer would have little significance, for they have 
neglected to include any intimation of what they 
wanted to say with the picture (which is a factor in¬ 
capable of being reduced to mathematical terms). 


But in photography there is little attention given to the 
acquisition of skill, and such skill as exists is largely 
sterile. The picture—the presumable reason for the 
existence of photography—becomes a side issue—a 
mere accidental or incidental by-product of the grind¬ 
ing of the gammas and factors. All too often the hopeful 
amateur is corrupted by these mechanical influences. 
The technical-minded interlopers in the photographic 
field, of course, enjoy impressing the wide-eyed ama¬ 
teur with their importance and the prodigious extent 
of their knowledge. So the amateur learns to prattle 
eruditely of gammas, and before long forgets all about 
the matter of making pictures, which was his original 
reason for going into photography. When he does have 
to cope with pictures, he makes very clear his convic¬ 
tion that an extra-fine picture must have been pro¬ 
duced by a shot of something extra-special in the 
developer. 

The Threat of the Machine 

it was a frequent thought of writers of the nineteenth 
century, when science was growing apace and the 
whole world was being mechanized, that the Machine 
might eventually become so powerful that it would 
rebel against and enslave Man, its maker. Man, they 
saw, was contributing every day to the further domi¬ 
nation of the Machine by permitting it to take over 
and control fresh phases of his life. Samuel Butler, in 
his story Erexvhon , tells of a people that, becoming 
aware of the rising tyranny of the Machine, banished 
it from their land, and made the possession of any 
manifestation of it, whether watch or locomotive, a 
capital crime. And Mrs. Shelley in Frankenstein created 
the archtype of the inventor who is overwhelmed by 
his mechanically created monster. 

In photography we see the threat of the Machine 
come to pass. The Monster is in control. Thousands of 
potential artists are ruled brain and hand by the 
dictates of the Machine. 

The Machine manifests itself in many ways. 

It appears in the form of a multiplicity of cameras. 

Now, all cameras are essentially alike; a light-tight 
box with a lens in front of it. From the cheapest to the 
most expensive, all modifications and attachments are 
purely incidental. Yet these trifling variations from the 
basic design are regarded by the victims of the Machine 
as though they were matters of real importance. These 
victims usually end up by acquiring a large number 
of cameras, none of which they ever learn to use. 


Because these owners of miniature cameras must 
occasionally take pictures, there has grown up a group 
of so-called “candid camera” enthusiasts. The “can¬ 
did camera” should not really be regarded as photogra¬ 
phy at all, but as a sort of indoor game comparable to 
“Adverbs” or “Sardine.” The principal point of the 
game consists in taking pictures where pictures should 
not be taken. Of all unhappy ways of spending an eve¬ 
ning in the theater, from the viewpoint of either a 
photographer or a theater-goer, the worst would seem 
to be that of furtively snapping the action of the play 
from a front row seat. Other candid camera addicts 
stalk their prey in restaurants, night-clubs or court¬ 
rooms. One and all, their results are very similar; 
“See that blur in the right-hand corner? . . . That’s 
Joan Crawford.” 

Even the layman realizes the slightness and futility of 
these record pictures. When the candid layman meets 
the candid camera his comment is apt to be: “But 
why spend two hundred dollars on a camera if this is all 
that you are going to do with it? My ten-year-old son, 
Johnnie, has taken much better pictures with his two 
dollar Brownie.” And the layman is perfectly right. 
The candid camera enthusiast is under the domination 
of the Monster, the Machine. He is involved in equa¬ 
tions, baffled by gadgets, and confused by the multi¬ 
tudinous adjustments on his camera. Johnnie, on the 
other hand, simply sees an image that he likes, points 
his camera at it, and punches the button. Johnnie, 
because he is not old enough, is not alarmed, impressed, 
or confused by the Machine. 

At one hundredth the cost, anyone with a little pic¬ 
torial sense can readily surpass the results of the aver¬ 
age minicam equipment in the hands of the average 
minicam owner. The picture on this page was made 
with a Hawkeye camera, costing $1.39. The Machine 
was not permitted to intrude. The only issues were the 
Image and its effective presentation. 

These remarks are not to be construed as unfavorable 
comment on the miniature camera itself, but simply 
on the prevalent abuse of it. To a large proportion of 
its users, the minicam has been converted into a 
Monster—a compact but very terrible little Monster. 

Monsters and Madonnas 

Against this symbol of the Monster—representing all 
the mechanically hampering, all the technically fright¬ 
ening, all the mathematically imposing, influences in 
photography, we may set another symbol, one of even 
greater antiquity. This is the symbol of the Madonna. 
This is possibly most frequently associated with Chris¬ 
tian legend and art, but it is far older than these. Even 
to the devout primitive Christian artists, the Madonna 
was much more than a representation of a person in a 
religious drama. She was a symbol of fruitfulness and 
growth, of life and creative energy. Hers was wisdom 
past mere knowing of facts. She was the power that 
built empires and reared cathedrals, that led men to 





“Portrait ” ff illiarn Mortensen, 


DATA. Camera. Eastman Hawkeye box camera, 2*4 x 4 Vi (price 
$1.39). 

Lens. Meniscus plus Kodak No. 3 portrait attachment (75 cents). 
Aperture. Undetermined. 

Exposure. About one half second. 

Film. Eastman Panchromatic roll film, 1936. 

Camera distance. Three feet, eight inches. 

Lighting. Contour. 

Developer. Glycin-Borax. 

Time of development. One hour and a half.* 

Projection control. Dodging in. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. 

Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone. 

*Owing to my lack of facilities for handling roll film of this size, the negative 
was given to a camera shop for development. Under violent protest from the 
laboratory man, who considered the whole proceeding as fantastic and sub¬ 
versive, it was developed for one hour and a half. 


labor with their hands to express the truth they had 
seen in their hearts. 

A favorite medieval legend utilizes the Monster and 
Madonna theme in significant fashion. A story often 
repeated is that of a beautiful Lady walled up in a dark 
tower whereof the jealous guardian is a terrible Dragon. 
Here w r e have a picture of the present predicament of 




the photographic art—creative power held captive by 
the Machine. This is the urgent need of photography: 
a Saint George—or, rather, a regiment of Saint Georges 
—who shall slay the Dragon and rescue the distressed 
Lady. 

The Conquest of the Machine 

In the absence of such a rescuer it becomes the task of 
every amateur whose interest in photography tran¬ 
scends that of a plumber installing a bathtub to wage 
his own campaign against the Monster. 

The first step in the conquest of the Machine is the 
mental task of persuading oneself, definitely and com¬ 
pletely, of the inadequacy and ultimate futility of the 
Machine. One very potent means of persuasion, for 
those who still cherish doubts, is to ask the eloquent 
technician in the midst of his discourse: “By the way, 
what pictures have you made lately? What, in short, 
have you accomplished with your knowledge?” The 
questioner may with perfect safety to himself guaran¬ 
tee to eat all the pictures worthy of the name that the 
gamma-wise technician has produced. It is not a cyni¬ 
cism but a simple fact that too much scientific knowl¬ 
edge is a handicap in creative photography. Many 
trails lead to the Monster’s den, but very few lead away 
from it. 

Having accomplished the mental conquest of the Ma¬ 
chine, one may turn to the practical aspects of the 
problem. The first practical step consists of drastic 
simplification of equipment. For every photographer 
nowadays that is hampered by insufficient equipment, 
there are probably a thousand that are hampered by 
insufficient limitation of equipment. In all other arts 
this limitation goes without saying. The violinist does 
not seek to increase the expressiveness of his instru¬ 
ment by putting on ten more strings, but by increasing 
his command over the four that it has. Nearly every 
great painter is noted for the characteristically limited 
range of his palette: he doesn’t mess around with all 
the colours he can lay his hands on; instead, for the 
sake of greater command and expressiveness in his 
medium, he works within narrow, self-imposed limits. 

To most photographers any significant simplification 
will entail abandoning, giving away, or selling a con¬ 
siderable part of their equipment and materials. Any¬ 
thing that does not have immediate functional signifi¬ 
cance, that does not contribute directly to the making 
of the picture, is superfluous and should be gotten rid 
of. Learn to regard equipment merely in its functional 
aspects. Thus a camera—no matter what it cost—is 
ultimately nothing but a light-tight box with a lens, 
with a few facilities for adjustment. Film—whether 
Orthochromatic or Panchromatic—whether fast or 
slow—is merely the means of recording the image. The 
developer—whether made with paraphenylinediamine 
or tomato ketchup—is only the humble means whereby 
the latent image is made visible. 

So the photographer at the outset would strictly limit 


himself to one camera with one (short focal length) 
lens, with a single kind of film, a single developer, and 
a single kind of printing paper. And in using these he 
would employ a single, unified system of procedure. 
This limitation of equipment is the first step in acquir¬ 
ing technique. Technique conquers the machine by 
putting it to work. 

At the beginning of the Introduction I mentioned the 
two distinct elements of art, the mechanical and the 
creative. Technique in any art is the act by which these 
two elements are brought together and harmonized. 
Through technique the mechanical is bent to the needs 
of the creative. Inthis sense of the word, most photogra¬ 
phers completely lack technique. Many have acquired 
mechanical skill, some have creative ability; but few 
have managed to bridge the gap between the two. 

In any other art the student gains technical mastery 
by means of arduous practice and finger exercises. In 
order to secure dominance over the mechanical aspects 
of his art, the photographic amateur needs to culti¬ 
vate the same approach. All methods and procedures 
should be reduced to a swift and facile ritual. A pho¬ 
tographer should be able to toss his camera ten feet 
in the air, catch it, and swing instantly into the busi¬ 
ness of taking a picture, with the correct fingers on the 
correct buttons. He should be able to load his film 
magazines in the dark, easily and without fumbling, 
three feet to a magazine, three magazines in five 
minutes. All the operations in development should be 
instinctive and invariable. Without experiment, he 
should know instantly how far to pull out his enlarger 
to get the degree of enlargement he wishes. Sheer 
mechanical competence is very valuable—and very rare. 
One gains it much more readily if the condition of a 
minimum of equipment has been met. 

Releasing the Imagination 

With the Monster brought to heel, there remains the 
problem of releasing and putting to work that creative 
urge, that emotional drive, that energy that we have 
symbolized as the Madonna. For sake of convenience I 
shall hereafter refer to this force as “imagination”; but 
let it be clearly understood that as herein used it does 
not have to do so much with the passive day-dreaming 
that the word sometimes connotes as it does with the 
active power that demands creative outlet. 

Both in its active and passive phases, the imagination 
has in many photographers been beaten down and 
suppressed by the domination of the Machine. How 
may this long-comatose force be revived and restored 
to effectiveness? 

Happily, it seems that although the imagination may 
be crushed and starved, it can never be destroyed 
utterly. Like the germ in the wheat that survived a 
drought of two thousand years, it springs to life again 
under the right conditions. Even the death of the indi¬ 
vidual cannot destroy the imagination, for that which 
is clearly and strongly imagined partakes of eternity. 


Through the imagination works that ever-diligeqt uni¬ 
versal force that Alois Riegl has designated as the “Will- 
to-Form.” All nature shows the striving of this Will to 
find fruition in concrete, tangible form. It represents 
the universal revolt against chaos. Inanimate nature 
equally with animate nature is driven by the Will to 
express itself in form. 

Among inanimate things the Will-to-Form expresses 
itself beautifully and concisely in the mysterious phe¬ 
nomena of crystallization. Rock-salt appears in com¬ 
pact cubes, and quartz in hexagonal prisms. A series of 
lovely and never-ending improvisations on the hexa¬ 
gonal form is seen in snow crystals—no two the same 
and yet all alike. Closely related to crystallization, 
according to Riegl, is the instinctive geometric orna¬ 
ment of many primitive peoples. 

In phyllotaxis, the arrangement and spacing of leaves 
on the stem, in the geometry of flowers, in the subtly 
turned spiral of the sea-shell, are seen more projects in 
design brought about by the Will-to-Form. In a volume 
called Art Forms in Nature are collected many illus¬ 
trated instances. 

Claude Bragdon in Projective Ornament and Jay 
Hambidge in Dynamic Symmetry have shown that 
geometry itself speaks in terms of beautiful forms. 

A familiar instance of the irresistible working of this 
Will-to-Form is seen in the business man who, while 
intent on a telephone conversation, assiduously sketches 
decorative scrawls on his blotting pad. And we all know 
the annoyance we feel when we are faced by a meaning¬ 
less blot on the wall or smear of cloud in the sky. The 
Will-to-Form will not let us rest until we have per¬ 
suaded ourselves that the blot or cloud looks like an 
elephant or the profile of an Indian. 

All but the most gross are potentially channels of the 
Will-to-Form. Herein lies the salvation of the machine^ 
ridden imagination. If we work in the right manner, if 
we make ourselves receptive to it, the Will-to-Form 
will realize itself through us. The Will is there , ready 
and waiting; we must make ourselves ready for it. 
There is a certain element of courtship in the creation 
of a picture—courtship without cave-man tactics. 
Aggressive egotism will fail; mere dogged stubbornness, 
mere bludgeon strategy, will not suffice. Before the Will 
works, conditions must be prepared, hindrances must 
be removed. 

The artist seeking release for his imagination is apt to 
find that there is within himself a hindrance to its 
working which may prove nearly as hampering as the 
Machine. It is a hindrance more subtle in its influence 
than the latter, and hence more difficult to cope with. 
The Machine is a concrete entity and one may take 
concrete measures with it, such as throwing excess 
equipment out the window and dumping excess chemi¬ 
cals down the drain. But here we have to do with an 
enemy within the gates, a Monster within the confines 
of our own skulls. 


This Monster is the conscious mind —the logical and 
worldly-wise conscious mind that suggests that we put 
on our rubbers when we go out in the wet, that reminds 
us to bring home a loaf of bread and half-a-dozen eggs, 
that firmly says “No” when we entertain foolish ideas. 
The conscious mind is a Babbitt. It is concerned horri¬ 
bly with what other people think; it has a sense of 
guilt in departing from the conventional; and it is 
prone to judge what can be done in the light of what 
has been done. So it is bound to disapprove of that lewd 
and adventurous fellow, the imagination. To the 
promptings of the imagination, the conscious mind 
says, “Absurd! Preposterous! Ridiculous! Impractical! 
The very idea!” To which the imagination replies apolo¬ 
getically, “Excuse me. Sorry I mentioned it.” 

Therefore, in pictorial procedure it is necessary always 
to seek ways to strengthen and give confidence to the 
imagination, and to free it from the officious inter¬ 
ference of the conscious mind. Only so can it provide 
an open channel to the Will-to-Form. The method in 
which one works during the taking of the picture is 
very important in this regard. Let me depict one method 
that is all-too-frequent among amateurs. It is repre¬ 
sentative of a type of worker who has not freed himself 
from the dead hand of the Machine, and who bends a 
heedful ear to the comments of that good old Rotarian, 
the conscious mind. He prepares his subject matter 
with great deliberation, and chooses his camera angle 
with the most meticulous care. He makes countless 
adjustments and readjustments of his camera. He 
takes repeated readings with his exposure meter, and 
checks Scheiners and filter factors in the handbook 
which he carries. After two hours of such preparation 
he approaches the camera and reverently takes one 
exposure! Technically, the result may be excellent; but 
pictorially it can only be a tight, hard, smug expression 
of the conscious mind. 

Another and far better method of working is one of free 
improvisation on a well-established basis. A photogra¬ 
pher using this method makes his original set-up with 
a certain amount of care, but without undue loss of 
time. He takes at least five or six exposures of it, varying 
the time widely but maintaining a single moderate 
diaphragm setting (about f.9) throughout. Then he 
begins introducing slight variations in his original set¬ 
up, or in his camera angle. Each variation is recorded in 
several exposures. It may be necessary for him to make 
these variations arbitrarily at first, but he gets them. 
Presently variants begin to suggest themselves spon¬ 
taneously. Then he is really under way. He has begun 
to get beyond the banal promptings of the workaday 
mind, beyond the deadening influence of the Machine. 
He begins to function as a channel of the Will-to-Form. 
The photographer (and often the model also) will be 
borne along on a freely flowing stream of associations. 
He will depart widely, wierdly, and outrageously from 
his first smug conception. And all along the line he 
will take plenty of exposures. To the careful conserva- 


live worker he will appear to have taken complete leave 
of sanity. And so, in a sense, he has; for excessive sanity 
is a mental manifestation of the Machine. But when 
the sitting is ended, with the photographer utterly 
dishevelled and the model in a state of collapse, there 
will be results. He will have shot at least six dozen 
exposures, if he uses film packs; or at least six maga¬ 
zines, if he uses a miniature camera. Some of the nega¬ 
tives will be under-exposed, some will be over-exposed; 
some will be double exposed, and some will be sans 
exposure; but somewhere among the lot there will be 
a picture. 

It not infrequently happens that the would-be pic- 
torialist, surveying the world about him, can discover 
no pictures. He is tormented by the certainty that 
pictures are there, but he simply can’t find them. This 
picture blindness is not caused by a lack of material, 
but by an excess of it. The imagination is thwarted by 
the want of a point to focus itself upon. Such a person 
needs to orient himself and to simplify his approach 
to pictorial material. A little self-analysis will un¬ 
doubtedly reveal to him that there is a certain similar¬ 
ity in those cases in which he has seen—or at least sus¬ 
pected—pictorial possibilities: In other words, that 
which most appeals to him is a fairly restricted type of 
pictorial material. In discovering the trend of his 
preference, he will greatly facilitate his growth in 
pictorial expression. The imagination works most readily 
with the material that one enjoys. When it is evident 
that one has a predilection for a certain type of material, 
one should definitely specialize in it. In seeking out 
and exploiting the possibilities of a restricted field one 
gains increasing mastery over his medium.* 

Having chosen his field of specialization, he must stand 
by his choice, even at the cost of some personal un¬ 
pleasantness. The would-be landscape photographer 
must firmly resist suggestions that he take pictures of 
his friend’s wife and baby, and the budding portraitist 
must be adamant in his refusal to take action shots of 
the football game. Having once clarified his pictorial 
problem, it is sheer stupidity for him to complicate it 
again. As he works steadily with a certain limited type 
of material, he will find his picture blindness gradually 
disappearing, and he will more and more often know 
that happy experience of having a picture reveal itself, 
like a gem in the matrix, clear-cut and serene among 
the encompassing confusion. 

This important moment at which the picture is dis¬ 
covered, at which it detaches itself from its surround¬ 
ing irrelevancies, may occur at various points in the 
photographic procedure. Sometimes the picture is 
clearly limned in advance by the imagination, and the 
desired result is secured by deliberate arrangement of 
pictorial materials. Sometimes the picture reveals itself 
in a casual movement of the model, a happy moment 
which is seized by the alert photographer. And some¬ 
th Venus and Vulcan (Camera Craft, 1934) I have discussed this matter of 
pictorial predilections in more detail, and have suggested a classification of 
material. 


times the picture does not appear until it unexpectedly 
looks out at you from the proof. In a case such as the 
last, the picture usually departs widely from the con¬ 
scious intent of the photographer, who suddenly be¬ 
comes aware that by entirely different framing, by 
emphasizing this line and by subordinating this mass, 
there will be created a picture vastly better than the 
one he originally conceived. The photographer must 
keep himself constantly alert to take advantage of 
these hints. 

Control is particularly essential in these pictures which 
we have originally overlooked, and which the benefi¬ 
cent Will-to-Form brings to our attention. Insuch cases 
the picture proper is apt to be cluttered with a lot of 
non-essentials, and considerable control is needed to 
extricate it from its encroaching surroundings. 

Sometimes one has the experience of getting so involved 
in a picture, so close to it emotionally, that he is utterly 
incapable of telling whether he has anything worth¬ 
while or not. In these cases it is best to lay the thing 
aside for at least a week, and get busy on something 
else. In the meanwhile the personal emotional con¬ 
fusion will subside, and the Will can make itself felt. 
When examined again, the picture in question will 
reveal itself as either a very poor thing or as something 
worth developing. Often the necessary change will be 
ridiculously obvious. But, if the thing is bad—tear it 
once across the middle, drop it in the waste basket and 
get busy on something else. 

This exhortation to “get busy on something else” might 
well be taken as the first rule of self-discipline for pic- 
torialists. The immediate need of amateurs is that they 
know less and do more. To accomplish anything with 
photography it must be accepted as work to be loved — 
not as a toy to be played with, nor as drudgery to be 
endured. Too many amateurs are playing with Pho¬ 
tography, and not enough practicing it. 

The second rule for self-discipline is: Don’t flatter 
yourself. It is all right to let your friends flatter you, 
but don’t let yourself be puffed up in your own estima¬ 
tion. We all like to receive praise, and it is perfectly 
permissible to smirk self-consciously and to murmur 
disparagingly, “Oh, that’s nothing,” when your doting 
friends praise you extravagantly. But keep your sense 
of proportion. If you know your pictures are bad, admit 
it to yourself. If you think they have a small grain of 
merit, cherish that grain. But alw r ays bear in mind 
that no photographer living has begun to realize more 
than a small fraction of the possibilities of his medium. 
And no photographer living is worthy to touch the hem 
of the garment of one of the great masters of graphic 
art. 

The third rule is: Seek the finer things. Don’t be cir¬ 
cumscribed by the prejudices and provincialities of 
your own craft. In the symphony hall, the art gallery, 
the library, you can learn more of the things that 
really matter in photography than in all the photo- 



graphic books and technical manuals. Hearing great 
music, seeing great pictures, reading great books, we 
gradually lose a little of the smallness and cheapness 
from our souls, and draw nearer to those deep eternities 
wherein all arts are one. 

* The final rule is: Learn about the art of photography, 
not in camera clubs, but in silence and solitude. The 
average run of amateurs are gregarious animals, fright¬ 
ened at being alone, and more given to gossip than old 
maids. The first act of an amateur who has ambition 
to accomplish something should be to escape from this 
petty, polluted sewing-circle atmosphere, and to seek 
the clean air of the wilderness—even if he goes no fur¬ 
ther than his own back yard. 

Silence and solitude—and much of both of them—are 
necessary to the creative worker. In silence he finds 
peace, and in solitude he finds himself. In the silence 
and in the solitude things assume their proper perspec¬ 
tive, personal issues fade away, the great deliberate 
rhythms of nature become manifest—and he is cleansed 
and made a fitter channel through which the upward- 
striving Will-to-Form may realize itself. 

A Note on the Notes 

In describing the making of the pictures that follow, 
I have divided the material into two parts; the physical 
ingredients, and the back-ground of thought and idea. 
The physical ingredients or technical data are segre¬ 
gated, like the dirty lines in a certain school edition of 
Horace, so that those interested in such matters may 
refer to them with the least possible inconvenience. 

The data lists contain reference to two procedures that 
pertain particularly to my own personal methods and 
were developed by me. These are the Texture Matrix 
aijd the Abrasion Tone Process. The Texture Matrix 
has been available to the public for the last year and a 
half. The Abrasion Tone Process, involving certain 
refinements of print finishing and control, has been 
supplied only to my pupils. Owing to the delicacy of the 
process and the extreme difficulty of adequately ex¬ 
plaining it without demonstration, and owing also to 
the present impossibility of supplying the materials 
for it, no explanation of the process is attempted. 


However, in order that the data lists may be complete 
in all details, the process is mentioned in all cases where 
it is used. 

It will be noted that nearly all the pictures have been 
made with a single brand of paper. This is to be con¬ 
strued rather as a personal habit than an exclusive 
recommendation. I am used to the Defender product, 
and find that it answers my pictorial needs. However, 
there are numerous other papers, such as Eastman 
P.M.C. or Agfa Brovira, which are very similar, and 
have proved to be equally useful. Let the amateur 
decide on one paper and stick to his choice. Whimsical 
experimentation with various printing papers is only a 
source of confusion and a grievous loss of time. 

Many items appear in the data lists repeatedly. During 
the ten-year period covered by these pictures I have 
worked with a progressively smaller group of materials. 
In dealing with practical phases of photography my 
aim is to exploit to the fullest a small group of readily 
controlled and applicable processes. 

Many amateurs who should be reading these words are 
now engaged in scanning the data lists with an eager 
and lustful eye. “Here,” they are saying, “is How It 
Was Done.” Could I reach them, I would answer some¬ 
thing like this: No, Kiddies; this is not how it was done. 
The data are but the bone and gristle from which all 
good sustaining juices have been boiled away. The 
data lists are true in all details, but (for the person 
who wants to make pictures) they are the least valuable 
information that the book contains. 

Cameras do not make pictures. Emulsions do not make 
pictures. Developers do not make pictures. Processes 
do not make pictures. Gammas, factors, and the abra¬ 
cadabra of the technician do not make pictures. Yet 
all that eventually counts with a photographer is 
whether he makes pictures. 

Only when the very young art of photography recovers 
from its juvenile preoccupation with glittering irrele- 
vancies, and gives over its effort to measure the uni¬ 
verse in terms of focal lengths and to stipulate the 
sun’s brightness in terms of Scheiners, can we hope 
that photographers will get down to the business of 
making pictures. 


MONSTEKS AND MADONNAS 


Part One 


CHARACTERS 

Woman of Languedoc 

Johan the Mad 
Thunder 

Hope Dancer 

Machiavelli 

Stainboul 


Market Girl 


THUNDER 


T HE pictures that follow are the result of about 
ten years’ work. In those ten years I have made 
tens of thousands of exposures and completed 
hundreds of pictures. Some that appeared master¬ 
pieces the evening of their production were destroyed 
with loathing the following morning. Some lasted a 
week or a month before they were consigned to the 
ash-can. Some lasted several years before they began 
to annoy me. But a small group managed to hold up. 
From that group the following selection was made. 
Ten years from now, no doubt, I would wish to con¬ 
siderably revise this selection. 

What are the elements that make a picture hold its 
own after the initial joy of carrying it through and 
completing it has evaporated? These elements appear 
to me to be three: 

(1) A superior photographic rendering. 

(2) A sound compositional scheme. 

(3) Subject matter of universal significance. 

Very often it is not altogether of our doing that these 
elements come to exist in our pictures. Rather, we owe 
it to the beneficence of the W ill-to-Form. The compo¬ 
sition that we labor over often turns out to be banal 
or freakish. And the subject matter that seemed to us 
so interesting becomes commonplace and empty after 
we have looked at it a few times. 

In none of the pictures of the first group, which I have 
entitled “Characters,” is there any effort at realistic 
representation, at portraiture of the conventional sort. 
Realism is, of course, a legitimate source of subject in¬ 
terest, but a very limited one. The fact that a picture 
is a speaking likeness of Mary Jones is of interest only 
to those who are acquainted with Mary. If the picture 
happens to reach a wider public, it is evident that it 
contains elements of wider significance than mere like¬ 
ness. In the “Characters,” of which the picture oppo¬ 
site is the first, there is represented in every case a 
recognizable universal type rather than an individual. 

In Thunder , for example, is represented the primitive 
human awe in the presence of Nature. We all share 
this awe, despite our various degrees of sophistication. 

This picture was not originally conceived with any such 
symbolism in view, however. It is a particularly good 
example of a picture working out its own destiny, 
almost in spite of the artist. 

A thirteen-year-old girl came into my studio one day 
to sit for me. I had it in mind to make something pic¬ 
torial, but had no very clear notion of what it would be. 
So I sat her down on a stool, put her under a “Basic” 
light, and began to take exposures. Her hair was neatly 
combed and she sat with Priscilla-precision. At my 
bidding she went through all the stock poses. She 
raised her eyes. She cast them down. She smiled 
brightly, happily, sadly, and thoughtfully. She sim¬ 
pered over her shoulder. She pouted. I was by this 
time well into my third dozen of exposures, and felt 
certain I had no picture yet. Maybe her dress was at 
fault. Something about the rugged contours of her 
face suggested a peasant type, so I tossed her a peasant 
blouse. When she had put this on, we got under way 


again. More exposures, but still no picture. By this 
time the model was getting weary and I was getting 
annoyed at the complete lack of any pictorial returns 
on my investment of exposures. It was necessary to do 
something to break the conventional and unproduc¬ 
tive tenor of the sitting. On an impulse I suddenly and 
violently with both hands mussed the model’s neally 
arranged hair. She looked up, startled and indignant. 
Here, without warning, was the picture. I fled back to 
the camera. The violence of the action and expression 
was inappropriate to the Basic light, so I quickly 
shifted the first unit to the dynamic position. Three or 
four exposures, and the sitting was ended. I soothed 
the somew'hat ruffled model and called it a day. 

When looked at in proof form, the result showed pic¬ 
ture possibilities. But it was obviously uncomplete. 
The elemental character of the image and emotion 
demanded an elemental background. A background of 
angular character, such as rocks and crags, would have 
been a\ variance with the voluminous curves of the 
central image. These curves suggested swelling, rest¬ 
less clouds, which in turn, taken in conjunction with 
the expression of the model, gave the key to the pic¬ 
ture: “Thunder.” 

With a Wolfe BB carbon pencil various arrangements 
of clouds were made on the proof, until one was found 
which gave an effective framing of the head and placed 
a strong accent of contrast opposite the face. 

The image was thoroughly inked, first with hard and 
then with soft ink. A still softer ink was mixed and 
laid in over the darker areas of the background, 
as determined from the cloud arrangement planned 
on the proof. Then, with a small hopping brush on a 
springer, the ink was removed from the lighter areas 
of the clouds. Finally, with a one-eighth-inch hopping 
brush, the edges of the clouds were carefully cleaned 
up and given definition. 

The transfer was made on dry Croquille board. The 
usual spotting and slight intensification was made on 
the transfer. 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex 3^x4%. Lens. Goerz-Dagor 7 inch. 
Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.ll. 

Film. Eastman Verichrome 1935. 

Camera Distance. Approximately 5 
feet. 

Lighting. Dynamic Light with re¬ 
flector.* 

Developer. Methol-Borax (see data 
on Stamboul). 

Time of development. One and a 
half hours. 

Printing paper (forbromoil matrix). 

Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Amidol (see data 
on Wo man of Languedoc). 

Process. Bromoil transfer, with lo¬ 
cally inked background. 

‘These notes assume familiarity with the 
author’s Projection Control (Camera Craft 

1934) and Pictorial Lighting (Camera Craft 

1935) 

























WOMAN OF LANGUEDOC 


T HE identification of a picture with a universal 
type may take place in one of two ways. Some¬ 
times the universal type is grasped and realized 
in advance, and the picture constructed to express it. 
Thus, to take a thoroughly banal example, if the theme 
of “motherhood” was to be presented, the artist would 
select for his model the most completely motherly 
looking mother that he could find, surround her with 
thoroughly childish children, and include a cradle or 
other poetic adjunct of maternity. Sometimes (and 
I hi s is probably more frequently the case) the picture 
when completed is found to identify itself with a uni¬ 
versal type in a way unrealized by the artist when he 
was making it. In the first case, the symbol is condensed 
into a picture; in the second case, the picture expands 
into a symbol. 

The picture opposite was one of a lot resulting from 
some experiments with costumes in an outdoor setting. 
It stood out among the group because it seemed to 
mean more. It is far from being a mere realistic cos¬ 
tume picture. In the stability of the figure, touching 
the ground firmly yet not bound down by it, in its 
buoyant health and the independent lift of the head, 
there seemed to be expressed something of the spirit of 
the peasants of the south of France. Hence the choice 
of the title. 

The costume makes no pretense to authenticity. An 
authentic costume is nearly always bad pictorially. I 
have found that by working with a few limited “cos¬ 
tume elements,” consisting of a few simple skirts, 
blouses and scarfs, it is possible to construct a huge 
variety of costumes, which are more effective pictori¬ 
ally, and are actually more true to the spirit of the time 
and the place than the costume of guaranteed factual 
authenticity. The costume in this picture consists of 
three elements: 

(1) A long underdress, combining petticoat 
and bodice, of colour just off white. 

(2) A yellow drape. This was used for the 
apron. 

(3) A white lace rag. Folded and laid on the 
model’s head, this constituted the cap. 

The figure was given a monumental dominance by the 
low position of the camera, which was held in the hand 
six inches from the ground. 

A summer afternoon sun, diffused by a slight haze, 
furnished a light approximating the Plastic quality. 
The impression of Plastic light was further increased 
by the combination of Panchromatic film and K2 filter, 
which rendered the sky in a medium gray tone. 
According to my habit in rr aking bromoil transfers, I 
first “felt out” the pictorial possibilities of the subject 
on a small proof, making the tentative alterations with 
a BB carbon pencil. 


In preparing the matrix for the transfer, the gray tone 
of the sky was further deepened by local printing. Some 
of the dark areas in the bushes were held back slightly 
by means of dodging. The matrix print for Woman of 
Languedoc was made with the No. 2 Texture Matrix. 
Traces of the texture remain after transfer. This was in 
the nature of an experiment. Generally speaking, an 
untextured print is preferable for the Bromoil process. 
The print was given normal exposure. It was allowed a 
full five minute development, in order that the image 
might penetrate clear to the paper base. This procedure 
is essential with a matrix to obtain complete rich blacks 
with a single transfer. 

After laying in the image with hard and soft ink, a still 
softer ink was used to darken the sky areas. A No. 24 
Sinclair brush was used for this purpose, and the very 
soft ink was gently laid into place. With a small hop¬ 
ping brush the shadow area of the dress was reduced, 
and a faint suggestion of branches was worked into the 
tree at the left. By the same means the shadow on the 
throat and breast was softened at the edge. Finally, 
distracting accents of light were subdued. These ap¬ 
peared originally among the rocks in the foreground 
and in the branches of the large tree. 

This transfer, which was executed in sepia ink, was 
made on Croquille board. 

I use the amidol developer, the formula of which ap¬ 
pears in the data list, only in the preparation of bro¬ 
moil matrices. 

DATA. Camera. Leica, Model F. 

Lens. Elmar, 50 mm., f.3.5. 

Exposure. Approximately one-thirtieth of a second at f.9. 

Film. Eastman Panatomic, 1935. 

Condition of shooting. Camera resting on ground. 

Camera distance. 18 feet. 

Lighting. Afternoon sun, approximating “Plastic” quality. 


Developer. Eastman D-76. 

Metol.29 grs. 

Sodium sulphite (desiccated) ... 3 oz.-—145 grs. 

Hydroquinone.73 grs. 

Borax, crystals.29 grs. 

Water to.32 oz. 


Time of development. One hour and a half.* 

Projection Control. Local printing. Local and general dodging. 
Texture Matrix No. 2. 

Printing paper (for bromoil matrix) Defender Velour Black I. 


Print developer. Amidol. 

Water.16 oz. 

Sodium Sulphite.77 grs. 

Amidol.15 grs. 

Potass. Bromide (10% sol.).12 minims. 

Process. Bromoil Transfer. 


♦This departure from conventional developing practice, which applies to all 
the pictures in this book, is explained in Projection Control, Chapter Three, 
and Pictorial Lighting, Chapter Four. 











ROPE DANCER 


T HERE has been a time in everyone’s life when the 
circus was the utmost end of his yearning. It was 
glamour, adventure, romance. It was escape from 
this sordid every-day existence into a glittering world 
where all women were beautiful, and all men were 
paragons of strength and bravery. This glamour and 
romance, this adventure and escape, are still sought 
after. So the circus remains the symbol of a childhood 
dream that few of us outgrow. 

In particular, the performer on the tight rope, who 
walks easily over dizzy heights, who laughs at the im¬ 
possible with mocking grace, is a symbol of a free spirit 
yearned after by all those conditioned by material 
things and halting skill. 

Among artists who have turned to the rich and lively 
movement of the circus for their material we may men¬ 
tion Picasso and Toulouse-Lautrec. In the case of the 
latter, the significance of the circus as an avenue of 
escape is especially evident; for a large proportion of the 
pictures of his well-known series were made during a 
period when he was confined for a mental disorder. 

The theme of the rope dancer gave me a chance to 
put to pictorial use an old device of trick photographers. 
This consists in photographing, against a horizontal 
background, figures that are presumably upright. Thus 
the illusion is given of figures floating in midair or 
hanging lightly suspended. By this means were made, 
a good many years ago, numerous more or less comic 
pictures of people falling off of ladders, etc. The device 
was sometimes used in the early cinema when the hero 
was obliged to scale the precipitous front of a sky¬ 
scraper. 

Since making this picture, I have further experimented 
with this effect. In so doing, I have considerably im¬ 
proved on the rather crude mechanical makeshifts 
that were then employed. However, I describe the 
making of this picture just as it took place, since others 
may not have any more material available than I had 
at that time. It is perhaps significant that, with my 
improved equipment for making such shots, I have not 
been able to obtain a picture that pleases me as well as 
this one does. 

It is necessary to spread something on the floor to take 
the place of the white background. For this purpose 
white oilcloth was used. This material proved to have 
certain practical disadvantages which will presently 
be mentioned. For later experiments I have used a 
couple of pieces of mattwhite wall board. 

A black light cord served as the rope. In order to get 
the umbrella close enough to the body, it was necessary 
to cut off part of the handle. 

In posing the model, constant care was demanded to 
prevent rumpling and soiling the oilcloth. 

The camera was placed on a nearby table, with the 
tripod extended to its fullest. To operate the camera, 


I mounted a chair placed on the table. From this 
precarious perch it was possible to shoot down at an 
angle of about sixty degrees. The aberration resulting 
from this angle proved advantageous, since in the fin¬ 
ished picture it increased the impression that the 
figure loomed in the air overhead. 

A balanced lighting was essential, owing to the need of 
avoiding shadows on the background. The “Contour” 
lighting seemed to solve the shadow problem best, and 
served to give best possible accent to the exceptionally 
fine legs of the model. Since there is no distance be¬ 
tween the subject and the background, it is of course 
impossible to use a rear unit in the manner of the 
usual set-up for the Contour light. 

The proof of the original print (reproduced on this 
page) shows at once the faults of the oilcloth back¬ 
ground and the corrections that were required in mak¬ 
ing the bromoil transfer. Despite considerable care, 
the oilcloth shows many wrinkles. Every wrinkle is 
marked not only with a shadow, but with a bright 
high-light. In addition, there are numerous cast 
shadows on the background which must be removed. 
On the matrix the usual “lay in” of hard ink was given 
with the electric brush. Detail in the umbrella and 
half-tones in the flesh areas were supplied with soft¬ 
ened ink. Then with a tight half-inch hopping brush 
the double image of the rope was reduced to one and 
straightened at the same time. By the same means the 
shadow of the body was removed from the background, 
and all the grey half-tones of the shadows of the wrin¬ 
kled oilcloth were “hopped out.” 

The decorative quality of the composition was im¬ 
proved by lengthening the hair. This was done with 
soft ink on quarter-inch brush. 

The final transfer was made on dry Croquille. It was 
given the usual spotting and slight intensification. 

DATA. Camera. Leica, Model D. 

Lens. Elmar 50 mm., f.3.5. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half 
second at f.9. 

Film. Eastman Panatomic, 1934. 

Conditions of shooting. Downward 
shot from camera above model. 

Camera distance. 14 feet. 

Lighting. Modified “Contour.” 

(See comment above.) 

Developer. D-76. (See data on 
W oman of Languedoc .) 

Time of development. Two hours. 

Printing paper (for bromoil ma¬ 
trix). Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Amidol. (See data 
on Wo man of Ixtnguedoc.) 

Process. Bromoil transfer with con¬ 
trol. 






























JOHAN THE MAD 


AN HISTORICAL character is of interest as pic- 
torial material only as it may be regarded as a 
symbol, as an exemplification of a universal 
type. Individuals are remembered in history only to 
the extent that they have entered the common con¬ 
sciousness as symbols. Consequently, details of faithful 
likeness are of secondary importance. The colour of 
Lucrezia Borgia’s eyes, the shape of Napoleon’s ear, 
the angle of Caesar’s profile, are of small moment com¬ 
pared with the ideas that these names represent. To 
give concrete and effective portrayal to these ideas is 
the aim of the pictorialist who deals with historical 
characters. 

In the case of the present picture, Johan the Mad , I 
am not sure that I have ever seen a contemporary like¬ 
ness of poor Johan of Castile. But the literal facts of 
how Johan looked—the colour of her eyes and hair, the 
shape of her nose—are of small consequence. By her 
crazy tragic journey through the kingdoms of Europe, 
bearing with her the corpse of her beloved husband, she 
has come to be a symbol and prototype of the tortured 
quest for something irrevocably lost. If this picture 
relates itself to this symbol, the title is justified. 

The picture was not created to fit the symbol. Rather, 
the title was suggested by the picture. Here is another 
instance of a picture occasioned by a happy accident. 

After a long, unfruitful sitting, in which many expos¬ 
ures were squandered and no pictures were obtained, 
the model was resentfully removing her make-up and I 
was disgustedly stowing away my camera. The model 
had twisted a towel around her head, had smeared her 
face with cold cream, and was glowering at herself in 
the glass. Suddenly, it was evident that here was a 
picture; not at all the picture that I had been trying 
all afternoon to get; but definitely a picture. A moment 
later, the model was back on the stool, the camera back 
on the tripod, and we were at it again. The model had 
on some quite irrelevant costume; to conceal it, she 
held in front of her a diagonally tilted piece of chip¬ 
board. This time the sitting was brief and to the point, 
a few exposures sufficing to record the variants re¬ 
quired. There was no need of fumbling, for the picture 
and its emotional tendency were clearly visualized in 
terms of this specific model. A few slight changes in 
expression were tried. The expression chosen was 
strong and brutal to the point of actual distortion. The 
degree of distortion is evident when this picture is com¬ 
pared with Youth or Woman of Languedoc , which 
were made by the same model. 

The architectural quality of the modelling of the face 
justifies the overpowering dominance given it by the 
extreme “choke shot.” It is based on a few simple 
planes. There is complete lack of merely decorative or 
incidental detail. All elements contribute to the face 
and the thought behind it. 

An interesting problem in empathy* is involved in the 
relationship of the twisted head-dress to the expres¬ 

*The element of empathy i* defined anil further diacussed in the notes on 
Portrait of a Young Girl. 


sion of the face of Johan. Definitely, this twisted mass 
contributes much to the emotional tone of the picture. 
It expresses in form the spiritual torture that the 
model’s face betrays. The picture loses immeasurably 
when this element is eliminated, and becomes almost 
absurd when its emphatic quality is changed. To 
appreciate the power of this element, imagine the 
result of changing the tightly twisted knot to a flowing 
drapery that falls gracefully over the shoulder! The 
whole print would be weakened thereby, and the power¬ 
ful expression would become a mere incongruous 
grimace. 

This is a straight print. Aside from the use of the No. 1 
Texture, no projection control was employed. 

The lettering, carefully planned to the space, was added 
to the finished print with a BB carbon pencil. The com¬ 
bining of lettering with a picture is a very tricky matter, 
and, unless it can be correctly done, lettering is much 
better omitted. Lettering must be executed with a nice 
sense of space values, it must be photographic in its 
tonal quality, and it must be properly subordinated to 
the central image. The general procedure is as follows: 

Lay in freehand guide lines very lightly with a lead 
pencil. Then, in the same way, indicate the spacing of 
the letters and lightly sketch them in. Trace gently 
over these sketched outlines with a BB carbon pencil, 
rectifying imperfections at the same time. Then, press¬ 
ing down heavily on a vertically held BB pencil which 
has been freshly sharpened, go over the letters again to 
obtain a strong, clean-cut outline. Finally, with a 
kneaded eraser, go lightly over all the lettering until 
it takes its proper subsidiary place in depth of tone. 

There are two general rules which will be found useful 
in securing the necessary subordination of titles. (1) 
Avoid ornate or elaborate design in the letters used, or 
any other flourishes that detract from the domination 
of the central image. (2) Whenever possible, let the first 
or last letter of the title be partially obscured by the 
image. By this procedure the lettering is placed in 
another plane in the picture, and is indicated to be of 
lesser importance. Note, in this regard, the placing of 
the title on Youth. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex 3*4 * 4*4. 

Lens. Goerz-Dagor 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-fifth second at f.8. 

Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 1931. 

Camera distance. Five feet. 

Lighting. Modified “Basic.” 

Developer. Glycin, regular formula. 


Water.1 gal. 

Sod. Sulphite.2*4 oz. 

Glycin.*4 »*• 

Sod. Carbonate.2*4 oz. 


Time of development. Two and a half hours. 

Projection control. Printed with Texture Matrix No. 1. Dodging in. 
Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. (See data on Machia- 
velli.) 

Treatment of print. Intensification with Abrasion-Tone process. 







MACHIAYELLI 


T HE historical characters that mean the most to 
the general public (and are therefore most valua¬ 
ble from a pictorial point of view) are those that 
have come to be universal types, just as recognizable 
and just as significant in our day as in theirs. Casanova, 
for example, has ceased to be a man and has come to 
be an idea. In pictorial terms he would be represented 
as one who would be just as efficient in a modern pent¬ 
house as he was in Henriette’s boudoir. Similarly, 
Niccolo Machiavelli would fit into a cutaway and top 
hat and—with the same non-committal smile and pur¬ 
poseful obsequiousness—attend the diplomatic ses¬ 
sions at Geneva. 

The picture of Machiavelli , in utter contrast to the 
history of Johan the Mad , was planned and carried out 
to be what it represents. It was originally suggested, I 
think, by the facial lineaments and slightly sardonic 
expression of the model. These strongly reminded me 
of the qualities of the almost legendary diplomatic 
plotter and political adviser of the Borgias. The picture 
was planned in detail, both in composition and thought, 
in a series of conferences with the model. 

The chosen form of presentation was that of a typical 
portrait of the period—a dominating half-length figure 
arranged on pyramidal lines, carrying a single small 
attribute, with a simple conventional landscape for a 
background. 

In further contrast to Johan the Mad , some effort was 
made to secure a likeness to the original, Niccolo’s face 
being more familiar than Johan’s. However, only a 
small amount of make-up was used. Its function was 
to add the final touch of verisimilitude to an already 
established characterization. In accordance with hints 
given by several contemporary portraits of Machiavelli, 
the model’s own eyebrows were blocked out with grease 
paint, and narrower and more arched brows were drawn 
in. The cheeks were hollowed by delicately blended 
shadows. Added width of the cheek bones was sug¬ 
gested by small high-lights of cold cream. The thinness 
of the lips was emphasized by rouging them for their 
full length. 

As in the case of Woman of Languedoc , the costume 
for this picture was assembled from a few simple “cos¬ 
tume elements” of tested photographic effectiveness. 
The dark yellow brocaded drape that forms Niccolo’s 
voluminous cloak appears reversed as the apron in 
Woman of Languedoc. The cap is a piece of black 
velvet, folded and laid on the head. 

A considerable number of exposures was made, em¬ 
bodying slight variants from the basic idea. But the 
established characterization was maintained through¬ 
out. The final choice was made from several nearly 
similar proofs because of the particularly happy ar¬ 
rangement of the hands. 

The landscape background was accomplished by a 
montage of two additional negatives, one of hills and 
one of clouds.* The principal negative was printed first. 

♦For additional material on Montane nee Projection Control , Chapter Nine. 


Note that the nearly opaque background resulting from 
use of the Basic Light effectively protects the surround¬ 
ing areas from exposure. For the sake of additional 
accent of contrast near the center of the picture, the 
cap was locally printed darker with the use of the aper¬ 
ture board. In making the montage, the exposed area 
of the principal image was shielded with a cardboard 
cut-out held in the hand. The montage negatives 
should be printed considerably lighter than the princi¬ 
pal image in order to establish the impression of an¬ 
other and subordinate plane. Finally, with all nega¬ 
tives removed from the projector, the print was given a 
general dodging in to blend the images and to darken 
the outer areas of the picture. 

The Abrasion-Tone Process was employed to intensify 
certain passages. By hopping out the tone, the cloud 
on the left was made to conform to the photographic 
cloud on the right. The narrow white collar was added 
by abrasion. 

At this time also was inserted the detail of the small 
string that hangs down from the hat. This string adds 
a slightly whimsical accidental touch that is oddly in 
key with the feeling of the rest. The picture is defi¬ 
nitely weakened by removing this detail. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex 3*4 x 4*4. 

Lens. Goerz Dagor 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.8. 

Film. Eastman Verichrome, 1935. 

Camera distance. About five feet. 

Lighting. “Plastic.” 

Developer. Metol-Borax. (S ee Stamboul.) 

Time of development. Two hours. 

Projection control. Montage of background. Texture Matrix No. 2. 
Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64 B solution. 

Stock Solution No. 1. 

Water (about 125° F.) . . . 64 oz. 

Metol. 270 grs. 

Sodium Sulphite (Des.). . 4*4 oz. 

Hydroquinone. 300 grs. 

Sodium Carbonate (Des.) . 3*4 oz. 

Potassium Bromide . . . 140 grs. 

Cold water to make .... 1 gal. 

Stock Solution No. 2. 

Water (about 125° F.) . . . 64 oz. 

Sodium Sulphite (Des.) . . 4*4 oz. 

Hydroquinone. 2*4 oz. 

Sodium Carbonate (Des.) . 3*4 oz. 

Potassium Bromide .... 140 grs. 

Cold water to make .... 1 gal. 

For use dilute as follows: 

A—SOFT. 

Stock Solution No. 1 . . . . 12 oz. 

Water.20 oz. 

B—MEDIUM. 

Stock Solution No. 1 . . . . 6 oz. 

Stock Solution No. 2 ... . 6 oz. 

Water.20 oz. 

Treatment of print. Intensification 
with Abrasion-Tone process. 








































STAMBOUL 


C HARACTERISTIC of the near East is this type 
of sexuality—joyless, defiant, and predatory. 
The cafe dancer of Stamboul does not exult in 
the joy of the flesh—as our healthier Western habit is— 
but bears its weight languidly. Restraint is there, but 
it is the restraint of a sleepy tiger. Her hand ever hovers 
near her dagger. 

Whenever the flesh becomes a burden, this type makes 
its appearance. So in the days since the War this type 
has become commoner in the Western world. Boredom, 
over-sophistication, have often served to convert sex 
into a drug. Desire becomes a nightmare through which 
the joyless spirit wanders lethargically. 

The general idea of this picture was planned in advance. 
This particular composition, however, was the result 
of rather extensive experimentation at the time of 
shooting. At least five dozen exposures were made on 
this occasion. 

Like the rest of the pictures in this group, the costume 
was assembled from a few simple, conventionalized 
“costume elements.” It happened that only two dag¬ 
gers were available. Two is nearly always an incon¬ 
venient number to handle in a composition, being 
neither a group nor an individual. So a screw-driver 
was pressed into service and stuck into the girdle along 
with the other two weapons. 

On the contact proof the pictorial possibilities of the 
print were carefully checked in advance, and, with a 
BB carbon pencil, the background detail was sufficiently 
worked out to serve as a guide in inking the bromoil 
matrix. 

The general procedure in inking was very similar to 
that followed in making Thunder. The image was laid 
in, first with hard and then with soft ink. With a still 
softer ink on a No. 24 Sinclair brush, the general dark 
areas of the background were added. The dark detail 
in the background was put in with soft ink on a bit of 
kneaded eraser worked to a sharp point. This device 
gives sharper definition than is possible with a brush. 
Then, with a quarter-inch hopping brush, the lighter 
details were worked in, the sharpest accents of light 
being hopped out with a rubber point. At this time 
also, the necessary changes were made to convert the 
screw-driver into a dagger. 

The transfer was made on dry Croquille board. 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex 3*4 x 4Vi* 

Lens. Goerz-Dagor 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.8. 

Film. Eastman Verichrome, 1934. 

Camera distance. Ten Feet. 

Lighting. “Plastic.” 

Setting. White background. 

Developer. Metol-Borax. 

Metol. 177 grs. 

Hydroquinone. 153 grs. 

Sod. Sulphite.1 oz.—119 grs. 

Borax.2 oz. 

Water.1 gal. 

Mix, in order given, in water at 100° Fahrenheit. Not to be 
diluted. Develop negatives between 60° and 70° Fahrenheit. 

Time of development. One and one-half hours. 

Printing paper (for bromoil matrix). Defender Velour Black I. 
Print developer. Amidol. (See data on Woman of Languedoc.) 
Process. Bromoil transfer with locally inked background. 










MARKET GIRL 


T HIS picture owes its origin to nothing more 
significant than a pleasing display of vegetables 
seen in a market. Here were properties of a very 
decorative nature. Taken in conjunction with a female 
figure of a peasant type, they constituted a symbol of 
rich, earthy fecundity. 

Here, then, was the picture, a Madonna of the Fields, 
laden with the rich produce of the land. Since the 
picture, as it was visualized, called for considerable 
exterior background, it was planned in terms of the 
paper negative technique. A tall grey box was included 
in the picture for later conversion into a wall. 

Correctly understood and handled, the paper negative 
is one of the noblest processes available to the pictorial- 
ist. It is employed by Echague, who is probably the 
outstanding pictorialist of these times. The scope it 
provides for selectivity and control is only slightly less 
than that afforded by the bromoil transfer. Indeed, I 
have found in working with pupils that it affords the 
best possible preliminary training for the latter proc¬ 
ess. Not only are the facilities for local alteration 
similar, but a similar type of original print is required. 
A print that is correct in quality for a paper negative 
is also suitable for being converted into a bromoil 
matrix. 

It is failure to recognize this quality that is responsible 
for many bad paper negatives. The basic simplicity and 
inexpensive nature of the process attracts many ama¬ 
teurs to it. Results are usually bad and the process 
gets the blame, when the fault lies with the quality of 
the print. Note that the original print (from a 35 mm. 
negative) is amply supplied with half-tones, and there 
is nowhere in it an extreme contrast of black and 
white. It is necessary that the print be not over-exposed 
and that it be developed at least four minutes in the A 
solution of D-64, one-quarter strength. 

With a dried and pressed 11 x 14 enlargement we pro¬ 
ceed to make the desired alterations. Work with pencil 
on the face of the print and with transmitted light. 
Use a medium Venus pencil for detail and a BB carbon 
pencil for broad passages where intense black is re¬ 
quired. A stump may be used to accomplish gradations 
of tone. Begin working with the head. Do not make 
the error of starting with the background, lest you lay 
in the tone too dark. The head and figure as the domi¬ 
nating element in the picture must determine the tonal 
key of the other planes in the picture. Emphasize the 
shadows, rounding the contour of the head and the 
orbits of the eyes, and filling in between strands of 
hair and badly placed light passages. If it is necessary 
to get extremely intense blacks, turn the print over 
and work on the back also. Remember that it is the 
transparency value of this print that is of importance, 
not the surface appearance. 

Proceed down the figure, adjusting the drapery, and 
shadowing the breasts slightly to emphasize the model¬ 
ing of the body. Notice (by comparison with the final 
print) that the vegetables in the lower corners are con¬ 
siderably lowered in tone to lead the eye into the center 
of the picture. 


When the key tone of the dominating plane of the pic¬ 
ture is established, begin work on the next plane, 
which in this case is the timber and stone wall. Keep 
this plane in a lighter tone than that of the figure. The 
other planes are built up in order, with progressive 
lightening of tone. The sky is darkened inward from 
the edges to bring the strongest contrast opposite the 
head. 

To make the paper negative, lay this altered print in 
the printing frame, emulsion upward, press it into 
close contact with the glass and lay a piece of F paper 
over it, emulsion down. Before locking up the frame, be 
sure that the two papers are in absolute contact, for 
any bubbles or bulges are disastrous. Give it an exposure 
commensurate with four minute development. 

The paper negative thus obtained shows some increase 
in contrast; but, thanks to the softness and gradation 
of the original print, the increase is not detrimental. 
At this stage, incorporation of light passages is accom¬ 
plished. As with the original print, the work is started 
on the principal plane of the picture. The detail of the 
hair is renewed and the high-lights on the face are 
intensified. The modeling of the body beneath the 
dress is suggested by a few high-lights. The neck-line 
of the dress is lightened and nearly elided in order to 
pull the light passages together. For the same reason 
the embroidery pattern on the right shoulder is con¬ 
siderably subdued. High-lights are intensified on the 
sash, on the fingers and on the vegetables in the fore¬ 
ground. Notice also that the bad fold breaking the line 
of the right sleeve is eliminated, and a slight correction 
is made of the disagreeable foreshortening of the 
fingers of the left hand. Detail and character are given 
to the confused mass of foliage at the left. Passing then 
to the other planes of the picture, the high-lights are 
intensified on the stones in the wall, and the sky is 
slightly brightened near the head. 

The procedure for making the final print is the same as 
that described for making the negative, and observes 
the same rule of exposure and development. In print¬ 
ing, the principal figure may be given increased domi¬ 
nance, if desired, by “dodging” with the negative re¬ 
moved. 


DATA. Camera. Leica, Model D. 

Lens. Elmar 50 mm., f.3.5. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half 
second at f.9. 

Film. Eastman Panatomic, 1934. 
Camera distance. Approximately 8 ft. 
Lighting. “Basic.” 

Setting. White background with tall 
grey box. 

Developer. Supersoup. 

Time of development. Two hours. 
Printing paper. Original positive and 
paper negative. Defender Velour Black 
F. Final print. Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, A solu¬ 
tion, one-quarter strength. 

Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone. 
Process. Paper negative. 





























MONSTERS AND MADONNAS 


Part Two 

NUDES 

Fragment 

Figurehead 

Youth 

Nude Study 

Portrait of a Young Girl 
Frou-Frou 


Cinderella 


FRAGMENT 


HIS picture and the six next following illustrate 
a variety of treatments of the nude. 

To the graphic arts the nude human body affords 
an unending series of plastic problems of composition 
and design. For photography the nude is particularly 
apt material. It offers a subject of great plastic variety 
and of nearly uniform color. It thus affords, when 
properly illuminated, an infinite variety of half-tones 
unspoiled by harsh contrasts. Such a subject is, of 
course, perfectly adapted to the peculiar limitations of 
the photographic medium. 

Despite this natural affinity, there has been a great 
deal of very bad photography of the nude. Early photo¬ 
graphic efforts at representing the nude were deeply 
tinged with Victorian pudicity. These were the days in 
which early morning mists and discreet distance pre¬ 
vented shocks to sensitive natures, and the ubiquitous 
yard of crepe de chine served notice on the carnally- 
minded that this was Art. Diffusion lenses dispelled 
everything except the vaguest suggestion of the human 
form, and the gum-bichromate process completed the 
job. If a photographer in those times happened to 
catch Isadora Duncan and a haystack in the same 
picture, an ingenious person could tell which was the 
haystack. 

One reason for the excessive use of diffusion by this 
school of nude photography was the camera’s embar¬ 
rassing tendency to unpleasant realism. This tendency 
still harasses the photographer. Many a picture that 
has started out to be a nude has proved merely to be 
the photographer’s wife without any clothes on. Per¬ 
sonality is an exceedingly dangerous ingredient to 
admit into the representation of the nude, and must 
be rigidly excluded from any plastic representation of it. 

The picture on the opposite page probably represents 
the logical limit in de-personalizing a nude—the con¬ 
verting of a living body into the semblance of a frag¬ 
ment of statuary. The picture was deliberately under¬ 
taken in a mood of reaction against the so-called nudes 
that were merely a very specific lack of clothes. This 
reaction brought forth the technical solution of the 
problem. 

Before the sitting, the model covered herself with a 
thin coat of flesh-coloured liquid whiting. This served to 
reduce all variations of local colour. Conspicuous hair 
on the body should be shaved. If it is desired to use the 
head in the picture, the eyebrows should be covered 
with surgical tape before the whiting is applied. All 
properties, drapes, etc., must be of the same tone 
(photographically) as the flesh. An oyster-coloured 
drape was used in this picture. 

After careful posing of the model, it was determined 
where the fractures of arms and neck should be located. 
These points were marked with strips of passe-partout, 
frayed along one edge. The frayed edge must be turned 
toward the body. Note that the model may not be posed 
so that a severed member crosses in front of any other 
part of the body. The set-up for a similar experiment 


with a male figure is shown in the cut on this page. 
Owing to alterations on the negative, it is impossible to 
show the earlier condition of Fragment. 

The “Dynamic” light with black background, which 
was used with this picture, is the only one suitable to 
this purpose. 

When the negative was developed and dried, it was sub¬ 
jected to local reduction with permanganate. The 
negative was laid emulsion up on an illuminated ground 
glass and the permanganate solution* was carefully 
applied to the arms and head of the image with a No. 
2 sable brush. Begin at the extremities and work 
toward the strips of passe-partout. These black strips, 
transparent on the negative, prevent the solution from 
“bleeding.” The frayed edges render the irregular 
contour of broken marble. 

The reduction of the emulsion is complete when the 
permanganate turns reddish brown. Immerse the 
negative in hypo until cleared, then wash and dry as 
usual. 

The nicks and scars are added with a sharp blade. 

The final alteration of the negative was made with 
Alvord’s “Opaque.” With it were added the high-light 
and thickness at each of the fractures. Small high¬ 
lights were put in the nicks also by the same means. 
Care must be taken that the position of the high-lights 
conforms to the direction of the lighting of the figure. 

The reduced portions of the negative are seldom of 
exactly the same density as the background. Very fre¬ 
quently vestiges of the original image remain. These 
matters are readily taken care of by a simple applica¬ 
tion of Projection Control in making the print—local 
printing with the use of the aperture board. 

♦Water.1 o*. 

Potassium permanganate.1 gr. 

Sulphuric acid (cone.).2 drops. 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3Vi x 4Vi. 
Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half 
Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 
Camera distance. Ten feet. 

Lighting. “Dynamic” light with black 
background. 

Developer. Glycin, regular formula. 
(See data on Johan the Mad.) 

Time of development. Two hours. 
Negative control. Local reduction with 
permanganate, use of Opaque. (See 
above description.) 

Projection control. Local printing 
with aperture board. Printed through 
Texture Matrix No. 2. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour 
Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B so¬ 
lution. (See data on Machiavelli.) 
Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone 
and spotting. 



>nd at f.ll. 
1930. 



















FIGUREHEAD 


AS A SURVIVAL of the Victorian bashfulness in 
/ the presence of the undraped body, some pho- 
tographers, seeking a moral substitute for crepe 
de chine, have attempted to argue for the “purity” of 
their nudes. There is, they allege, nothing of the flesh in 
their presentation of the nude; photographer, model, 
and beholder have freed themselves, through the great 
purgation of art, from all the uneasy promptings of 
Sex. To all such noble protestations, of course, any 
sensible person responds with the irrefutable comment 
of a Bronx cheer. 

Let us have no more of these prudish apologies. There 
is, indubitably, an element, a considerable element, of 
sex in the representation of the nude. There is also an 
element of sex in almost every work of art that is worth 
its salt. A work of art that is devoid of this great ener¬ 
gizing influence is as epicene and as unpleasant to con¬ 
template as a person similarly bereft. Sex is a force so 
subtle and profound that it must inevitably influence 
all activities of life. In art especially, which is so simi¬ 
larly compounded of emotional impulse and creative 
will, sex is bound to exert a profound influence. When 
sex may give the theme to a sonnet or a symphony, 
when to the youth in love the very stars set their courses 
by sex, it seems scarcely worth the trouble to disclaim 
sexuality in photographs of the nude (whether they be 
works of art or not). 

All nature testifies to the universality of life fulfilling 
itself in life, the vital force forever boiling up into new 
and exuberant manifestations. “Mother of the Ae- 
neadae, darling of men and gods, increase-giving 
Venus, who beneath the gliding signs of heaven fillest 
with thy presence the ship-carrying sea, the corn-bear¬ 
ing lands, since through thee every kind of living thing 
is conceived, rises up and beholds the light of the sun.” 
Thus Lucretius addresses the creative force of the uni¬ 
verse, symbolized as Venus, who constrains “each after 
its kind to continue their races with desire.” This uni¬ 
versal fruitfulness, this constantly reborn energy, finds 
its most complete and appropriate representation in 
the female figure. William Blake, to whom all nature 
appeared but a symbol, wrote as follows: 

“The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. 

The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. 

The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. 

The nakedness of woman is the work of God.” 

The illustration on the opposite page, and the one on 
the cover of this book, are neither of them, in the strict 
sense of the word, complete pictures. They are aca¬ 
demic studies, tentative efforts at capturing in pictorial 
terms the universal symbolism of the nude that we 
have just been discussing. In order that a body may 
express this endless fecundity of sea and earth, it must 
be presented in rugged and craggy modeling, empha¬ 
sizing all its rugosities and swellings. For this dramatic 
but impersonal rendering, the “Plastic Light ’ proved 
the most effective. 


No whiting was used on the model’s body. There is no 
effort to represent it as otherwise than flesh. “Deper¬ 
sonalization” is accomplished by symbolic rather than 
literal means. The Plastic Light is most effective if the 
skin has a slight sheen that gives added crispness to the 
high-lights. Ordinarily, the slight perspiration that 
comes from working under the lights is just right for 
this purpose. Should this perspiration be lacking, a 
similar effect will be attained if the model rubs her 
body with soap and water and lets it dry. 

NEVER use oil to emphasize the highlights on a nude 
figure. The effect, though perhaps immediately star¬ 
tling, is cheap and tiresome. The body itself, instead of 
displaying those qualities of health and cleanliness 
that should be inherent in the nude, looks slimy, dis¬ 
gusting and unclean. Nor is the practice justified by 
any increase in photographic quality and modeling. 
On the contrary, oiling the body largely vitiates and 
contradicts the natural modeling of the figure. It gives 
you highlights, yes, fierce, hot highlights, but most of 
them in places where highlights have no business to be. 
A minimum of control was employed in making this 
transfer, particular pains being taken to preserve the 
medium gray tone of the background, so characteristic 
of the Plastic Light. It was possible through the added 
pungency of the blacks available with this process to 
give increased dominance to the modeling of the 
figure. 

Torse , the picture on the cover, makes use of a property 
that appears in the majority of the nudes in this group. 
This is a white painted wooden box, six feet by two feet 
six inches by one foot six inches. It is of sufficiently 
light construction to be moved easily, and yet strong 
enough to serve as a seat. This device, for want of a 
better name, and possibly because it is white and empty 
and has no back, has come to be designated as a “Holly¬ 
wood Coffin.” As a neutral decorative element it is 
useful in many pictures. Placed upright, it is a smart 
and effective background for a picture of the fashion- 
plate type. Placed horizontally, it serves as a seat, or, 
with the model behind it, as a battlement or balus¬ 
trade. Its straight rectilinear shape makes it a particu¬ 
larly apt foil for the display of the nude figure. Several 
examples of its use appear in the pictures immediately 
following. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3Vi x 4*4- 
Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.ll. 

Film. Eastman Verichrome film pack, 1935. 

Camera distance. 8 feet. 

Lighting. “Plastic” light. 

Developer. Metol-borax. (See data on Stamboul.) 

Time of development. One hour and a half. 

Printing paper (for bromoil matrix). Defender Velour Black I. 
Print developer. Amidol. (See data on Woman of Languedoc.) 
Process. Bromoil transfer. 


YOUTH 


A MONG the doctrines promulgated by the Medieval 
/jA churchmen, none has reached wider or lasted 
-L longer than that of denouncing the “flesh” as 
evil and loathsome and therefore to be hidden. Neurotic 
ascetics, flaming with a compensatory zeal kindled by 
their own abstinence, built up a complex against the 
naked human body that has endured in the Western 
world even till today. Odo of Cluny in the Tenth Cen¬ 
tury reviled in carefully chosen epithets all the beauty 
of the female body. “If we cannot bear to touch phlegm 
or filth even with the tip of a finger, how could we 
desire to embrace a bag of dung?” And with wonder¬ 
ment we read of female ascetics who bathed in the dark 
or in their shifts, lest they fall into temptation. To 
this same impulse may be traced the crime committed 
by the missionaries of the last century against the 
island peoples of the Pacific; simple beauty-loving races 
compelled under threat of punishment to become lisp¬ 
ing prudes, walking to chapel in Mother Hubbards and 
cast-off Prince Alberts. 

This movement against the innocent South Sea Island¬ 
ers was perhaps the final manifestation of an impulse 
already somewhat discredited in the land of its origin. 
Although in Victorian England the forces of prudery 
held absolute sway, the character of this prudery had 
changed utterly since the days of Odo of Cluny. As 
Havelock Ellis points out, “The nineteenth century 
man who encountered the spectacle of white limbs 
flashing in the sunlight no longer felt like the medieval 
ascetic that he was risking the salvation of his im¬ 
mortal soul; ... he merely felt that it was ‘indecent.’” 
Already there was under way, especially in Germany, a 
movement toward a healthier, saner view of nudity. 
This movement is today bearing fruit. Compare our 
conventional swimming attire with the habits of the 
bather who, a hundred years ago in Victorian England, 
patronized a “bathing machine,” a dressing room on 
wheels that was rolled out into the water. From this 
contraption the bather descended, completely shel¬ 
tered by an awning that came down to the surface of 
the water, and in sedate privacy disported himself in 
the chill waters of the North Sea! 

Although the movement has suffered much from the 
prurient curiosity of a section of the public and from 
the unseemly antics of a few publicity-seekers, the 
growth of “Nudism” is very significant as a symptom 
of a changing viewpoint. It may well be that this 
changing view-point is leading us to a new Renais¬ 
sance of the plastic and graphic arts. “In all the arts,” 
says Maeterlinck, “civilized peoples have approached 
or departed from pure beauty according as they ap¬ 
proached or departed from the habit of nakedness.” 

Generally speaking, a strong impression of personality 
is out of place in the representation of a nude. Per¬ 
sonality is felt to conflict with the symbolic and plastic 
implications of the nude figure. This condition of the 
avoidance of personality is a particularly hard one to 
meet in photography, owing to the realistic and literal 
habits of the camera. In the first picture of this group 
( Fragment ) personality is excluded by the rather dras¬ 
tic means of mutilating the figure to remove the head, 
and by the suggestion that the figure is of marble 


rather than of flesh and blood. In Figurehead and Torse 
personality is excluded by the powerful stress given to 
the symbolic and plastic qualities. 

In the present picture, Youth , two elements prevent 
the intrusion of disturbing personality factors. The 
first (and most important) is the emphasis on pattern, 
design and linear rhythm. The second is the fact that 
the model’s eyes look down, rather than out of the 
picture. There is an element of challenge in eyes that 
meet the beholder’s: in the presence of this challenge, 
of course, complete impersonality is impossible to 
maintain. 

The composition is constructed on the basis of Hogarth’s 
“Line of Beauty,” a firm but feminine contour. The 
monumental, decorative effect is enhanced by the 
device of placing the camera on the floor. It will be 
found necessary to tilt the front of the camera upward: 
a small book will serve for this purpose. In order to 
correct the aberration in drawing arising from this 
position of the camera, it is necessary that the model 
lean forward slightly at the waist. 

Such a pose as this makes great demands on the model. 
Only a model of exceptional ability and experience 
could accomplish it without any trace of strain. And 
only a model of the most perfectly proportioned figure 
could pass the test of a full front view from a camera on 
the floor. 

Note the position of the feet. The placing of the feet is 
always a difficult problem in nude photography. If they 
are pointed at the camera they look like stumps; and if 
they are placed flat to the camera they look like flippers. 
When the camera is at floor level the problem becomes 
even more difficult. In this case, the position of the feet 
was carefully determined before the rest of the pose 
was established. 

This is an example of “true high key,” based on high- 
key subject matter and on lighting of Basic quality.* 
The conventional basic set-up was altered by moving 
the front lighting unit considerably to the left. In 
order to enhance the high-key quality, the print was 
given an exposure sufficiently short to permit of full 
development. 

Note that the “Hollywood Coffin” appears in this pic¬ 
ture, the end view in this case. 

*Pictorial Lighting, Chapter Nine. 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3V4 x 4 y 4 . 

Lens. Goerz-Dagor 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.ll. 

Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 1930. 

Conditions of shooting. Camera at floor level. 

Camera distance. 14 feet from subject. 

Lighting. “Basic” quality, plus small sky light. 

Developer. Glycin. Same formula as Johan the Mad. 

Time of development. Two hours. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. Formula in data for 
Machiavelli. 

Treatment of print. Minimum of exposure, with development of 
at least three and a half minutes. 





































H AVELOCK ELLIS has drawn attention to the 
significance of the fact that the gods of antiq¬ 
uity were always represented as nude or nearly 
so. Unquestionably an idea of divinity attaches itself to 
utter nakedness. It connotes freedom, escape from the 
conditioning of clothes, and the accidents of time and 
place. Clothes are rags of mortality that should not 
afflict the ever-living gods. 

This god-like human body is the basic material of the 
graphic and plastic arts. Through the human figure, 
freed from the irrelevant comment of clothes, the crea¬ 
tive impulse of art has found its noblest expression. 
And through it also (to speak the unhappy truth) have 
come to pass the cheapest and most degrading trav¬ 
esties of the art spirit. 

It is small wonder that the public has become confused 
and unhealthy in its attitude toward the use of the 
nude in art when we consider that the two best known 
and most widely publicized examples of it have been 
“Stella” and “September Morn.” When these fifth- 
rate specimens of the painter’s craft—mediocre in exe¬ 
cution and execrable in taste—were customarily ex¬ 
tolled by side-show barkers as “masterpieces,” it is 
not surprising that the public reaction (not so many 
years ago) to the mention of the nude art was either 
outraged respectability or lewd sniggers. 

The public attitude toward photographic representa¬ 
tions of the nude has been determined by even lower 
standards. The public mind cannot wholly dissociate 
the photographing of the nude from certain magazine 
advertisements that it has seen. “Art studies.” “Glossy 
finished ACTUAL photographs, comprising in all 30 
thrilling poses, made from French originals.” “Photo¬ 
graphs entirely Nude undraped and unretouched, in 
unusual positions.” These advertisements are usually 
significantly flunked with others dealing with “Lost 
Manhood.” 

The amateur who undertakes the photography of the 
nude will find that he must be prepared to meet much 
perverted thinking, much false doctrine, misunder¬ 
standing and hostile opinion. These things he must 
ignore and go his own way in directness and sincerity. 
If he follows this path, he will avoid the faults of taste 
that have made nude photography a subject for back¬ 
room witticisms—crude realism, coyness, concealment, 
and sentimentality. Only by fine workmanship, by 
depth of understanding, by appreciation of plastic 
qualities, by honesty, may he pay his tribute to the 
divine in human form. 

This picture is an example of the paper negative pro¬ 
cess. 

The first essential in using this process is correct qual¬ 
ity in the print used for conversion into the negative. 
(I find the use of a film diapositive a needless and limit¬ 
ing complication.) Many of the indubitably bad results 
that amateurs obtain from the process are due solely 
to wrong print quality. Not every print by any means, 
not even every good print, is suitable to he converted 


NUDE STUDY 

into a paper negative. There are three conditions that 
the print must meet if good results are to be secured. 
Contrast must be avoided. The tendency of the paper 
negative, as of most other processes, is to exaggerate 
contrast. Hence great care must be taken to secure and 
preserve all the middle halftones. There are three 
sources of contrast, all of which must be avoided, (a) It 
may be the result of excessively one-sided, unbalanced 
lighting. A lighting of Basic quality is much better for 
processing, (b) The contrast may be inherent in the 
local colour of the subject, with large areas of light and 
dark placed in juxtaposition, (c) Contrast may be of 
chemical origin. For this reason, when working with 
paper negatives, it is necessary to avoid contrasty 
emulsion on the original negative, as well as on the 
bromide print, and to avoid likewise contrasty develop¬ 
ers for paper negative and print. 

The softness of the original print and of the paper 
negative must be intrinsic and genuine. A sort of 
spurious softness is to be obtained by under-develop¬ 
ment. But a print thus secured will not produce a good 
paper negative. A print of the right type is only gotten 
by full development. 

The original negative must be of correct quality. It 
must have been correctly lighted, correctly exposed, 
and correctly developed.* 

Considerable control was employed in making this 
picture. On the original print (working with pencil and 
stump, as described in the notes on Market Girl ) the 
facial expression of the model was altered by enlarging 
the lips and slightly changing the contour of the face. 
Shadow accents in the hair and along the body con¬ 
tours were darkened somewhat. The low curve sup¬ 
porting the body was added. 

This altered print was converted into a negative in the 
manner described previously in connection with Market 
Girl. Further alterations were made on the negative. 
High-lights were intensified or added in the hair and 
on the forehead, breasts and legs. A slight shadow was 
removed from the white background. The original floor 
line (which came about waist-high, owing to the slight 
downward angle of the shot) was eliminated also. 

♦For discussion of “negative quality” see Projection Control, Chapter Three, 
and Pictorial Lighting, Chapter Four. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3Vi x 4Vi» 

Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.8. 

Film. Eastman Verichrome, 1933. 

Camera distance. Approximately 12 feet. 

Lighting. “Contour” light (with deeply tanned body). 

Developer. Glycin. Formula in data on Johan the Mad. 

Time of development. One hour and a half. 

Projection control. Texture Matrix No. 2 on background only. 
Printing paper. Original positive and paper negative. Defender 
Velour Black F. Final print. Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, A. solution one-quarter strength. 

Formula in data for Machiavelli. 

Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone. 

Process. Paper negative. 






coni 


is one art concept derived from the theo- 
tical aestheticians, rather than the practical 
trtists, which is of real value and an aid in solving 
ete artistic problems. This is the idea of “em¬ 
pathy.” 


among the brai 
t ion t he chilly n ud 
Is at the edge of t 
ices are felt to do vi 
are 


■ 

Thiis rather alarming word is the English version of.the .The unpleasanlr 
German Einfuhlung , a term coined by Theodor Lipps, fember Morn" t 

TUn l,, f-<1_ __.» 




The meaning of “enipathy” is less formidable than the 
word might indicate. The meaning of the word, and its 
precise relation to the act of looking at a picture, may 
perhaps best be gathered from the literal translation 
of the original German-— Einfuhlung , feeling-into. In 
looking at a picture, or any other work of art, we are 
all apt—if we have any imagination—to project our- 
rSelves into the work of art, to identify ourselves with 
what is .going on in it. This feeling of self-identifica¬ 
tion may be sufficiently strong to create an actual 
physical sensation. Thus^looking at the pictured repre¬ 
sentation of Fujiyama by Hiroshige, we may feel our-, 
selves lifted by the rising lines'of the mountain. Or we 
may feel ourselves crushed beneath the weight of the 
entablature of the temple at Karnak. This “feeling 
f into the picture,” this momentary identifica- 
meself with the subject, is what is known as 


oitcept will be found very useful in the study and 
of pictures. We are all familiar with the 
omenon of the picture that for some mysterious 
elusive reason is not right. Technically the picture 
is excellent, the material is presented well, there is no 
articular fault to find with the composition—yet it is 
all wrong. Frequently this shortcoming will be found 
to lie in faulty empathy —-an empathy that contradicts 
the implications of the subject maLter. 

Owing to its intimate nature, there is more emphatic 
suggestion about the nude! than any other subject 
matter. Hence the nude is particularly liable to faults 
in handling that are fundamentally nothing but bad 
empathy. 

’ 

Had there been in Youth , for example, any evidence of 
strain on the part of the model, the picture would have 
lost,immeasurably. The photographic quality might 
eenjust as good, the physical proportions of the 


pathi.c grot 

we suffer from i 
. . . 
it is not quite polite t 

In the discussion 
way of preventing the 
the plasticrepresentat 
direct glance of iht 
although the model’s 
a distinct impression o 
exists for two reasons * 
ity in this picture, t 
features rather than 
obvious awareness ii 

To me, the princip 
equivocal touch suppl 
She is the girl-worn 
consciousness of her 
of boldness and prudery. ... 

/i i 

or llamboyant aggressiven 
destroyed the balance 

Technically, this 
high key, built on 
ing of Basic quali 
ity, the “minimu 
development” princi 
in making the negat 


that one 
lity into the 
Was to avoid the 
picture opposite, 
it, there is present 
"his impression 

; 'li. 

-iual- 


to 


ven 




here 


in 


es 


he picture li 
element of personality. 


model unaltered, the linear pattern even better—yet it 
would not have been as good a picture. “Feeling out- 
selves into” the picture, we would have been aware of 
the model’s discomfort, and would have felt a corres- 


' 


rm s 

■ S1 


w 




full 


faults 

R-aifcSrW'* 

cence 


xamph 
ter ai 
high-key qual- 
d maximum of 
the limit, both 
he print. 


High-key represen ta 
nudes and for pictures in 
ninity is to be emphasi 
Young Girl , for instance, 
tones in the hair instead 
accents in black, all the d 
have been lost. In general, 

picture suggest heaviness and masculinity 
," ’ w : ' ■ 
This is a straight print. Projection control w 
to a slight vignetting and dodging in. 


suitable for 
element of femi- 
Portrait. of a 
reas of dark 
nt few small 
|pic t ure would 
punts of bla ck in a 


DATA. Camera. Leica, Model D.’ 

Lens. Elmar., 50 mm., f.3.,5. 

]»oiuiingly unpleasant reaction. Exposure-, Apf ►rOximatcly one-fifth second at f.9. 

There are even grosser physical discomforts than mus- ’ Panatpmic, 1934., 

ular strain to which a model may be subjected, all of 
.-Inch, when they appear, produce bad empathy—and 


ad pictures. Nudes of such' bad empathy are— un- 
appily—rather frequently seen in photographic- an¬ 
nuals ami on the w alls of salons. One sort is the greasy 
nude mentioned in the preceding chapter. Another 
sort is the sunburnt nude who exposes her lily-white 
limbs to the desert sun and treads the hot sands with . Mac hi 
reluctant feet. Yet another sort is the abraded nude ^T r eat ; 
who sits gingerly on rough stone or courts disaster yelopm 
m iMMW 


distance. 3 f 


ineties. 


76. Formula in data on Woman 


Time of de^ 
Projection 


pproximately two hours, 
I printing. Dodging in. 


•)|| 


Printi 


Velou 


D-6t 


dat 


an 


» on 


. 

maximum of .de- 


itiim 



> 0 . 

. 



|EORGE JEAN NATHAN has somewhere remarked 
that to the Englishman sex is beefsteak, while 
the Frenchman regards it merely as hors 
d’oeuvres. 


The French as a race have an amazing gift for intellec¬ 
tual detachment. Affairs and issues that an Anglo- 
Saxon gets emotionally embroiled in, and which he 
messes up with sentiment and prejudice, a Frenchman 
• regards in a clear, cold light. Under this light he per¬ 
ceives that many of these things are very pleasant and 
very amusing, but nothing to get apoplectic about. 
So he proceeds to smjle at them, to eitjoy them—and 
forthwith to forget them. A particular evidence of this. 
. detachment of the Frenchman is his well-known skill 
in setting forth in art the lighter and more amusing 
aspects of sex, and in enjoying them without blushes 
and without sniggers. 

-In the readjustment of ideas that has taken place 
since the W ar, .the English-speaking races have found 
themselves veerihg towards an understanding of this 
viewpoint. Hence there has*come to. be an increasing 
appreciation of the lighter aspects of serious matters. 
And art with a Vie Parisienne accent, which twenty- 
five years ago would have placed one outside the pale, 

has come to be accepted and practiced. 

• • •. 

Anglo-Saxons practicing this phase of nude art, being 
unaccustomed to it, and perhaps temperamentally 
still unreconciled to it, must assiduously cultivate 
lightness of touch.* A bit of grossness, a bit too heavy 
an accent, a bit too much aggressiveness-—and your 
caviare becomes corned beef. In thought, in action, in 
.. structure—-the.picture must conform throughout to 
the lightness of its intent. 

In (he first pictures of this group the intent was solely 
plastic! Personality was subordinated or obliterated as 
being incompatible with this intent. In Frou-frou the 
plastic quality is merely incidental. The personality 
element is primary, the direct challenge of the beholder 


by the subject. This altered intent calls for much more 
action and animation on the part of the model. 

In this picture,.and thC one next following, there will 
be noted a use of clothes in combination with the nude 
figure; .This use is only permissible in nudes of the 
lighter Fie Parisienne type, in which the provocative 
touch imjparted by clothes is appropriate. With nudes 
of the plastic type, however, any suggestion of con¬ 
temporary or period garments is unpleasant in the 
extreme and utterly destroys the plastic intent'of the 
picture. The picture becomes an anomaly, being neither 
plastic nor amusing. At most, in plastic tiudes, there 
may be permitted a drape of purely symbolic charac¬ 
ter. Such a drape may be employed only in a decorative • 
.manner: the moment that it becomes.-evident that the, 
drape is being used for purposes, of concealment, it, 
becomes as unpleasantly suggestive as a model’s hands . 
that are too fortuitously disposed—and for the same 
’reason. 

Tn the original negative of Frou-frou the area above the 
breasts appeared as a flat, even tone, which would have ifl 
.printed too light. In making the' print, the half-tones 
of. this area were enriched by the use of local printing 
with the aperture board. The tone of the corners of the 
picture was slightly lowered by dodging’ in. 








m 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3*4 x 4 %. 

Lens. Goerz-rDagor, 7 inch. . . . , , 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.lT. . 

Film.* Eastman Verichrome, 1936. 

* Camera distance. 6 feet. . 

Developer. Metol-Borax. Same formula as Stamboul. 

Time of development. Two hours. 

Projection control. Local printing with aperature board, dodging u'., 

. in, printed through Texture Matrix No. 2.«. 

Printing paper. Defender .Velour Black I.. 

Print developer.. Eastman D-64, B. Solution. See data on V. 
Machiavelli. '* »? ; 


Treatment of print. Normal exposure, full development. 




CINDERELLA 


HIS picture is the last of the nude group. 
Before leaving this topic, it seems well to make a 
few suggestions on a delicate problem that evi¬ 
dently vastly troubles a great many pictorialists. With 
some, it is more than a problem: self-consciousness, 
false standards of modesty, fear of public opinion, have 
built it up into a complex. The troublesome nature of 
this matter has been indicated by numerous students 
of mine who have sought my advice on it, and have ap¬ 
proached the issue with blushes and hesitations. In a 
few words, the problem is: how to ask a model to pose 
in the nude. This, it seems, is a contingency that Emily 
Post has not provided for. 

The fact that these students have made such a porten¬ 
tous issue of the matter, that they built it up into such 
a blushful bugaboo, clearly proves that they had the 
wrong approach. As a matter of fact, there should be 
no more of an issue involved in asking a model to pose 
in the nude than in asking her to sit for her portrait. 
When both requests are brought down to this same 
level, the probabilities are that she will assent to both, 
and for the same reason—she is flattered. 

Under these circumstances, nearly every woman will 
consent to disrobe—unless she is deformed, or she sus- 
|pects she is being made game of. All women delight in 
exhibiting their charms. This feminine tendency to 
exhibitionism, however, is not explicitly sexual. It is 
based rather on her desire to extend her conquest, and 
to prove that she, too, can win approbation. It is founded 
on egotism rather than on sex. The request to pose in 
the nude flatters her, and she flatters herself in acced¬ 
ing to it. She is eager to do so, provided she is admired 
but not mauled. 

Failure to understand this point sometimes leads an 
inexperienced photographer to unwarranted assump¬ 
tions. He interprets the model’s consent as a concession 
to him instead of as a tribute to herself. The sub¬ 
sequent disillusionment is generally very unpleasant 
for both parties. 

The more readily a model consents to disrobe, the less 
sexual significance there is to the act. A sixteen-year- 
old schoolgirl will doff her clothes without hesitation, 
and glory in it, and bask in the approbation that she 
meets; while a hardened adventuress will fight the 
suggestion to the last ditch. Clothes are part of the 
latter’s stock-in-trade, for she knows that they are 
much more specifically sexual than the nude body. 

Bearing these matters in mind, the photographer ap¬ 
proaching a model on this matter will be direct but 


delicate. He will come to the point in a matter-of-fact 
way, but will not fail to imply an appreciation of the 
model’s qualities. Let him not be too urgent, but re¬ 
member that his request is half granted as soon as it 
is made. 

Two of the pictures in this group make particular 
demands upon the physical qualifications of the model. 
In Youth the direct full-length presentation of the 
figure demanded a perfect proportioning of all the 
parts. In Cinderella , of course, the composition and 
idea of the picture demand a small and beautifully 
proportioned foot. The same problem of posing the 
feet is here involved that was mentioned in the discus¬ 
sion of Youth. The smallness and trimness of the feet 
(and of the shoe) are emphasized by turning them 
slightly toward the camera. 

Note the quality of the Basic light in this picture. 
Owing to its relatively short range of luminosity, it is 
able (when properly combined with the minimum of 
exposure and the maximum of development) to repro¬ 
duce simultaneously the texture of the black stocking 
and the detail of the light area. The interesting “catch 
light” under the right breast is not derived from any 
additional light source. It is an occasional happy inci¬ 
dental effect of the Basic light, and is produced by 
reflection from the white background. 

An important matter of empathy is involved in the 
posing of this model. Actually, most of her weight is 
resting on her right thigh, out of sight of the camera. 
Thus the contour of the left thigh and buttock is kept 
round and unbroken. Were the model sitting normally, 
the resultant flattening of these parts would produce 
an impression of grossness and weight entirely out of 
key with the thought of the picture. 

The “Hollywood Coffin” will be recognized as a promi¬ 
nent element in this print. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3Vi x 4*4- 
Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-fifth of a second at f.8. 

Film. Agfa regular film pack, 1928. 

Camera distance. Approximately 14 feet. 

Lighting. “Basic” light. 

Developer. Glycin, regular formula. (See data on Johan the Mad.) 
Time of development. Two hours. 

Projection control. Dodging in. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. (See data on Machia- 
velli .) 









MONSTERS AND MADONNAS 


Part Three 

GROTESQUES 

Preparation for the Sabbot 
The Pit and the Pendulum 
Human Relations 
Belphegor 
The Heretic 


The Vampire 



PREPARATION for the SARROT 


W ITH this picture we take our leave of the clear 
open air and conventional understandable 
themes and plunge into a world of murky 
shadows and primitive fears. This world is not peopled 
with the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, 
nor any of their female relatives, but with the half- 
glimpsed figures that loom through the mists of our 
dreams and with troglodytic terrors that reach out 
toward us across the abyss of centuries. Herein lies the 
reason for the equivocal effect of grotesque art on many 
people: the material is unfamiliar, and, by ordinary 
standards, unpleasant; yet it calls forth a deep instinc¬ 
tive response. Thus they are torn between repulsion 
and attraction. I have noticed many times that people, 
coming by chance on a specimen of grotesque art in a 
gallery, do what the old-time movie directors called a 
“double take.” That is, they pass over the picture with 
a casual glance, turn away from it, pause suddenly with 
a startled expression, and then return to it with in¬ 
credulous intentness. The subject matter, at first 
meaningless, suddenly strikes home. 

Elderly ladies (of both sexes) have often remonstrated 
with me for upsetting them with such horrid pictures. 
“The other day I saw such a sweet picture of a little 
boy blowing bubbles.” Yet these same elderly ladies 
would pause, before leaving the gallery, to further 
upset themselves with a final glance at the most san¬ 
guinary horror that was on view. 

Everything exists through its opposite. For pictures of 
calm and tranquil beauty to have any meaning, even 
for “sweet” pictures to have any meaning, it is neces¬ 
sary that the grotesque and the distorted exist. Per¬ 
fection of form is significant only because the malforms 
exist also. Those who turn away from the grotesque are 
losing the richness and completeness of artistic ex¬ 
perience. 

A very fruitful field for grotesque art is afforded by the 
manifestations of witchcraft and demonology. Fear, 
secrecy, and converse with evil powers, were character¬ 
istic elements of this mysterious cult which is as old 
as man. These elements are of the very substance of 
the grotesque. The early wood engravers did much with 
themes derived from witchcraft. Brueghel has worked 
with this material; so also has Goya; but little has been 
done with it by photographers. Over-consciousness of 
the literal limitations of their medium has perhaps held 
some back from entering this unrealistic and imagina¬ 
tive field. But this very quality of unrealism should be 
a challenge to a photographer who wishes to pass be¬ 
yond the conventionally accepted realism of the camera. 

Some years ago I planned and partly carried out a 
“Pictorial History of Witchcraft and Demonology.” 
This picture and several others that follow belong to 
this series. 


The preparation for the Sabbot has been a favorite and 
frequent theme of the artists who have dealt with this 
material. The young witch, eager and exuberant, is 
being rubbed by the old witch with a magic ointment. 
By the virtue of this salve, according to tradition, the 
witches were enabled to fly to their assemblies. Regi¬ 
nald Scot (1584) gives the formula for this ointment or 
“witch butter” as follows: “The fat of yoong children, 
and seeth it with water in a brasen vessell, reserving the 
thickest of that which remaineth boiled in the bottom, 
which they lay up and keepe, untill occasion serueth 
to use it. They put hereunto Eleoselinum, Aconitum, 
Frondes populeas, and Soote.”* 

The mysterious setting was assembled from quite 
commonplace materials. A black background was used, 
of course. The strange hanging shapes were composed 
of torn strips of black tarlatan. Dimly seen in the back¬ 
ground is a skull, supported on a tripod and draped 
with a dark cloth. The snake form in the foreground is 
the hose from a gas heater. Close examination will 
reveal the fact that my garbage can functioned in this 
picture also. The curiously curved broomstick, which 
the young witch bestrides impatiently, was made from 
a palm branch. 

The old beldame, the important subordinate character 
in the composition, was played by the scrub woman 
who came in that day to clean. Without warning, and 
without change of costume, she found herself suddenly 
thrust into a picture. 

This picture is one of very few in which I have made a 
successful composition with two figures. Such a com¬ 
position usually results in an uncomfortable division 
of interest. But here there is no such division. The old 
witch is effectively subordinated, both by her inferior 
position, and by her lesser illumination. 

♦Those who can’t resist new developers might try this formula some time. I 
am sure it is as good as some others. 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3*/ 4 x 4'/ 4 . 

Lens. Zeiss-Tcssar, 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-fifth second at f.8. 

Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 1927. 

Camera distance. Approximately 14 feet. 

Lighting. “Dynamic” light with aluminum reflector. 

Setting. Black background. 

Developer. Glycin, regular formula. (See data on Johan the Mad.) 
Time of development. One anti a half hours. 

Projection control. Normal spot printing with dodging in. 
Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-61. B. solution. (See data on Marhia- 
velli.) 

Treatment of print. Ahrasion-Tone Process. 












I 










THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 


T HE word “grotesque” is derived from the same 
root as “grotto.” Thus the grotesque art is, in 
its origin, closely connected with the rites of 
deities that were worshipped underground. Much of 
this original significance still clings to it. The old, old 
fears are still with us, despite the braggadocio of our 
modern learning. Fundamentally we still fear the 
winged terrors that hover in the darkness, we shrink 
from the black mystery of the grave. Herein lies the 
abiding fascination of grotesque art; for we are in¬ 
evitably drawn by that which we fear, and cannot take 
our eyes from that which terrorizes us. 

There are, however, other motives affecting the use of 
the grotesque in art. One motive, nearly as old as the 
basic element of fear, is propitiation. By giving a con¬ 
crete artistic form to the fear that obsesses us—by 
giving it a definite time and place, so to speak—we are 
enabled to lessen its power over us. 

Another important motive in grotesque art is hatred. 
There is inevitably a close relationship between hatred 
and fear. So in dealing with that which we hate, we are 
very apt to turn to the grotesque. The hate motive in 
grotesque art will be discussed at greater length in con¬ 
nection with the “propaganda picture,” Human Rela¬ 
tions. 

A more sophisticated and modern motive for the gro¬ 
tesque is found in an attitude that we may call “intel¬ 
lectual sadism.” The artist, in other words, enjoys the 
shock that his pictures inflict on his public. This rather 
trivial motive, I confess, has encouraged me in my 
indulgence in the grotesque. I take malicious pleasure 
in observing the horrified reaction of the innocent spec¬ 
tator as he comes unwarned on a picture that strikes 
past his guard of polite tolerance. 

A sounder and possibly more dignified motive, and one 
which contributes much to the modern interest in the 
grotesque, is the escape which it provides from cramp¬ 
ing realism. Realism for its own sake is a blind alley. 
Photography, owing to the peculiarities of the medium, 
is made particularly aware of this fact. Photographers 
who are irked and weary of merely factual reports of 
everyday people in the everyday world may well turn to 
the world of the grotesque. When the world of the 
grotesque is known and appreciated, the real world 
becomes vastly more significant. We become aware of 
the dark forces that work behind the curtain of events; 
the skull suddenly leers at us through the flesh; and 
we see the exaggerated gesture that lurks behind the 
most commonplace acts. 

Edgar Allen Poe in his “Tales of the Grotesque and 
Arabesque” gave a fresh artistic impetus to the use of 
such material. Neglected or belittled in his own coun¬ 
try, his work created in Europe a new school of literary 
thought. Many excellent examples of modern grotesque 
art owe their inspiration to his stories. 

The picture opposite owes its origin to a “property” for 
which I was unable to find any use. This was an old 
bowsprite about eight feet long which was washed up 
on the beach. This piece of timber, finely weathered 


and of beautiful photographic quality, demanded to 
be put into a picture; but no picture suggested itself. 
It lay around the studio for months, very mqfch in the 
way, and a continual source of annoyance. Every time 
I fell over it I tried to figure out a pictorial use for it. 
One day when I was more annoyed than usual, I hap¬ 
pened to remember the long swinging blade in Poe’s 
story of “The Pit and the Pendulum.” Here at last was 
the picture. 

Owing to the considerable set-up which was required, 
it was necessary to plan the picture in advance. The 
elevated camera angle chosen for the final set-up was 
rendered possible by a platform in one end of the studio. 
The picture owes much of its effectiveness to the loom¬ 
ing of the perspective obtained by placing the pendu¬ 
lum almost in line with the camera. This effect was 
made feasible by the fact that the model (because he 
was lying flat on the floor) was able to hold the pose for 
a long time without movement. Thus it was possible to 
close the diaphragm down to its lowest stop, and, by 
a long exposure, obtain perfect definition and depth. 
The lighting approximates Plastic quality. Since there 
is no separation between subject and background, no 
rear lighting unit was used. By means of a cardboard 
shield held by an assistant, the foreground and edges 
were thrown into deep shadow. 

As will be seen by comparing the original picture with 
the finished print, considerable local control was neces¬ 
sary in inking the matrix. The lateral beams and the 
suspended loop of rope were added by inking locally 
with well ground soft ink. The cement floor was con¬ 
verted into cobble stones by the use of a one-eight inch 
hopping brush, using two consistencies of ink to obtain 
richness in the shadows as well as gradation. Com¬ 
parison with the original shows that two ropes were 
added to the composition. By means of additional 
shadows and high-lights, the ropes were made to bite 
into the flesh. Soft ink on a small brush supplied the 
shadows, and the high-lights were picked out with a 
scrap of kneaded rubber shaped to a tiny hopping point. 
While still moist, the transfer was subjected to further 
control, through the intensification of high-lights. 

DATA. Leica, Model D. 

Lens. Elmar, 50 mm., f.3.5. 

Exposure. Approximately two 
seconds at f.18. 

Film. Dupont Superior, 1934. 

Conditions of shooting. Shot 
obliquely from above. 

Camera distance. Approxi¬ 
mately 14 feet. 

Lighting. “Plastic.” 

Setting. Cement floor, with 
ropes and long beam. 

Developer. Supersoup. 

Time of development. One hour 
and a half. 

Printing paper. Defender Ve¬ 
lour Black I. 

Print developer Amidol. (See 
Woman of Languedoc.) 

Process. Bromoil transfer. 



HUMAN RELATIONS 


ATRED is frequently the emotion that lies 
behind grotesque art. 

There are different kinds of hatred. There is a 
hearty animal hatred which is common in choleric 
natures. This hatred is rarely of long duration, and 
finds its natural expression, when it tries the grotesque, 
in crude caricature and forthright lampoon. This 
hearty hate often turns strongly to the comic; for the 
hater keenly enjoys himself in converting the thing he 
hates to an object of ridicule. 

At the opposite pole to this animal hatred is the subtle 
hatred that stores itself up over a long period, that 
refines itself gradually and that distills itself by small 
drops into a philosophy. This sort of hatred turns to 
grotesque of a strange, attenuated type. Baudelaire 
and Beardsley are examples of this attitude. Baude¬ 
laire dwelt on themes of death and decay, not for their 
own sake, but because they were for him fitting sym¬ 
bols of the corruption of the human soul; and he paid 
tribute to the all-devouring Worm because it seemed 
to him the consummation of all beauty, all dreams, 
all aspirations. And Aubrey Beardsley, with his cruel 
line, depicted a reptilian humanity, because he had 
seen the secret snake that feeds on the heart of man. 

Between these two extremes, of hatred that flares and 
is gone, and hatred that becomes a consuming philos¬ 
ophy, there is a type that mulls over its hatred, general¬ 
izes on it, and expresses this generalization in a gro¬ 
tesque symbol. Examples that we may mention here 
are Hogarth, Daumier, and Goya. These artists at 
various times made what may be called “propaganda 
pictures.” In a propaganda picture, the important 
thing is neither the picture itself nor the immediate 
object of the artist’s hatred, but the train of thought 
which the picture engenders in the beholder. The 
maker of a propaganda picture, in a word, has an axe 
to grind; through the medium of a generalized gro¬ 
tesque symbol, he points a moral, he preaches a ser¬ 
mon, he reads a lesson. 

The beginning of Human Relations was trivial enough. 
The telephone company overcharged me for long dis¬ 
tance calls. I remonstrated, I protested; but in vain. 
Eventually I paid the bill and departed, warm with 
righteous indignation. If my hatred of all things con¬ 
nected with telephones had been of the purely animal 
type which I have just described, I should probably 
have been content with depicting the president of the 
telephone company hanging from one of his own tele¬ 
phone poles. But my hatred stirred around in my mind 
and got itself involved with several other pet hates that 
were disturbing me at that time. These were the days 
when stocks were stopping dividends, when lives of 
thrift and industry were being wiped out by the fore¬ 
closing of mortgages and the closing of banks, when 
Japan was carving herself a large slice of China. Every¬ 
where there was evident a spirit of “Take what you can, 
and to hell with your neighbor.” Those who were 
strong seemed to be, in sheer wantonness, gouging the 
eyes of humanity. 


Two models, of course, were required to carry out this 
picture idea, one to supply the outraged, tortured face, 
one to furnish the cruelly thrusting arm. The first 
model applied considerable make-up, emphasizing the 
deep lines of suffering and suggesting the puckering of 
the skin around the eyes where the fingers seem to 
have entered. Against his closed eyes the other model 
rested the doubled knuckles of his first two fingers. 
Notice how the metal wristlet adds strength and cruelty 
to the gesture of the arm. 

A slightly rounded piece of chipboard was held up to 
suggest the curve of the world. This symbol helps to 
increase the impression of impersonality. 

This is one of the very few instances in which I have 
resorted to etching on the negative. The doubled-over 
tip of the finger was removed in this manner. 

The picture was printed through a No. 1 Texture 
Matrix. The image was elongated somewhat, in order 
to take it even further from the field of literal repre¬ 
sentation. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3*4 x 4*4. 

Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. One-fifth second at f.8. 

Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 1932. 

Camera distance. Approximately 6 feet. 

Lighting. Modified “Basic.” 

Setting. White background. Diagonal mask of chip board. 
Developer. Glycin. Regular formula. (See data on Johan the Mad.) 
Time of development. One hour and a half. 

Negative control. Finger tip removed from negative by etching. 
Projection control. Elongation with dodging in. Texture Matrix 
No. 1. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. (See data on Machia - 
velli .) 

Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone Process. 






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BELPHEGOR 


I T is probably true that pictorial art cannot touch so 
directly the springs of fear as can either the liter¬ 
ary art or the cinema. Fear—and the answering 
thrill of the scalp—is stirred much more subtly, and 
at the same time much more directly, through the 
medium of the more primitive sense impressions, 
touch and smell. Those familiar with the ghost stories 
of Montague James can testify to this fact. In one 
memorable story, a man sitting alone in a lamp-lit 
room senses something stirring beside his chair. With¬ 
out looking, he puts his hand down; and a soft and 
hairy mass rises against it. Consider the utter impossi¬ 
bility of adequately rendering this moment in pictorial 
terms. You can represent the hairy mass, you can 
represent the hand, you can represent the horrified 
face of the man; but nothing can represent the searing 
horror conveyed by the suggested tactual sensation. 

Fear also can be rendered in terms of the cinema me¬ 
dium. Here the purely pictorial element receives much 
assistance from the additional stimulus of movement 
and sound. 

So in the pictorial art of the grotesque we are not so 
much concerned with stirring fear, or with represent¬ 
ing fear, as with representing symbols of fear. The 
elements of the horrible in grotesque art seldom frighten 
us any more; they are well domesticated little horrors, 
thoroughly house-broke, and of a friendly nature. 

Belphegor is one of the Witchcraft and Demonology 
series. The Devil was, of course, the principal deity of 
the witch cult. But he was attended by a large hier¬ 
archy of subsidiary demons: Thaumiel, Adam-Belial, 
Satharial, Astaroth, Golab, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Baal- 
Chanan, and Adramalek. There are several curious 
books—notably Le Dragon Rouge and Le Grand Grim- 
oire —which contain detailed portraits of many of these 
demons. Belphegor is derived from several of these cuts. 
The primary problem of this picture was one of make¬ 
up. The collodion medium here used is one formerly 
exploited in the motion picture field by the late Lon 
Chaney. 

The collodion make-up is a difficult process, and should 
not be undertaken without due preparation and under¬ 
standing. Conventional character make-up is a species 
of painting for three-dimensional effect. The use of 
collodion takes us into sculpture . Hence its use must 
be based on a sculptural sense of structure. The make¬ 
up must not violate the basic bony structure of the 
face. The structure may be warped and exaggerated; 
but it must not he lost sight of or contradicted. 

One caution needs to be observed in using collodion. 
The solvent is ether; so, to avoid damage to the model, 
it is advisable to work in a well-ventilated dressing 
room with an electric fan going. 

The general method of constructing a collodion make¬ 
up* is as follows: 

The major added protuberances are modeled in wads 


of cotton and are tenatively fitted to the face. A coat of 
collodion is applied to the face with a brush at each 
point where additions are to be made. Then the cotton 
is quickly pressed into place. It is necessary to work 
swiftly, as the collodion dries almost instantly. As each 
wad of cotton is attached, its outstanding fluffy edges 
are pressed down to the face with the collodion-filled 
brush. After all the wads are attached to the face, their 
modeling is adjusted with the fingers. If additional 
proturberance is needed, it is built onto the cotton 
already in place with more collodion. With small wisps 
of cotton, each brushed into place with collodion, the 
modeling is refined, and the large wads are blended 
into the contours of the face. 

In Belphegor , the brow was built out large and heavy 
over the eyes. This operation made the eyes small and 
brutal and caused the forehead to recede. The nose 
was built up to meet the line of the brow. The cheek 
hones were built out and the jaw was widened. 

When the cotton is attached and modeled to the de¬ 
sired shape, it is then varnished with several coats of 
collodion. When these coats are dry, grease paint is 
applied over the entire face. Considerable care is de¬ 
manded in working the paint over the attached cotton. 
It is necessary to lay the paint on quite heavily in order 
to disguise the difference in colour between the cotton 
and the flesh. 

When the final smooth coat of paint was completed on 
the Belphegor make-up, much additional work was 
done with a brown lining pencil, emphasizing the eyes 
and accentuating the modeling. 

The Dynamic Light was chosen in order to give the 
maximum dramatic emphasis to the crude, rugged 
modeling of the face. 

Local printing was employed in making the print to 
obtain additional luminosity to the shadow areas. The 
dominance of the face was increased by dodging in. 

A large amount of control was exercised through the 
Abrasion-Tone process. High-lights were intensified 
and the modeling was made more powerful. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 

31/4 x 41 / 4 . 

Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. One-half second at 
f.8. 

Film. Verichrome, 1935. 

Camera distance. Approxi¬ 
mately 5 feet. 

Lighting. “Dynamic” light. 

Developer. Metol-Borax. (See 
data on Stamboul .) 

Dev. time. Two hours. 

Projection control. Local 
printing.Texture No. 2. Print¬ 
ing paper. Defender Velour 
Black I. 

Print developer. D-64, B. so¬ 
lution. (See Machiavelli.) 

Treatment of print. Maxi¬ 
mum control with Abrasion- 
Tone Process. 



i<l collodion may l»e scoured at any drug store. 


THE HERETIC 


T ORTURE and pain are frequent themes of gro¬ 
tesque art. Indeed, it is only in the medium of 
the grotesque that these powerful primitive mo¬ 
tives are admissible; for the realistic representation of 
torture or pain is intolerable pictorially. 

Like the other phases of grotesque art, the representa¬ 
tion of such subjects exerts a tremendous fascination. 
The attention given to them is shocked, and often 
unwilling; but it is intense and breathless. This fas¬ 
cination is not reprehensible, nor a sign of complete 
morbidity. Persons who would be made acutely ill at 
seeing a dog run over in the street may quite sincerely 
enjoy contemplating the most brutal themes in the 
medium of the grotesque. The spectacle of torture 
strikes through our civilized shell to a primordial im¬ 
pulse of cruelty that lurks in every mortal man. This 
impulse lies deep and stirs seldom, but it is there. It is 
not so long ago that public executions were a common 
spectacle. And we still go to prize fights and wrestling 
matches. A piece of grotesque art may appeal, in a 
manner utterly refined and quintessential, to this 
same impulse. 

The use of this theme in art is of great antiquity. 
Assyrian sculptures show torture and execution of 
prisoners of war. Human sacrifices are depicted in 
Mayan sculptures. Chinese painters have shown, with 
great particularity and the most delicate artistry, the 
method of performing a large number of intricate and 
clever tortures. Among the first books to issue from 
the printing presses in the fifteenth century were col¬ 
lections of Lives of the Martyrs, in which woodcuts dis¬ 
played, in naive and circumstantial detail, the horrible 
sufferings—by stoning, flaying, breaking on the wheel, 
and boiling in oil—whereby they attained to Blessed¬ 
ness. Medieval artists delighted also to portray the 
sufferings of the damned in Hell, serving thereby the 
laudable twofold purpose of gratifying the righteous 
and of creating good grotesque art. The torture theme 
appears frequently in the art of the Middle Ages. Cer¬ 
tainly the doting care with which Medieval artists 
lingered over the outraged and multilated body of the 
Christ was not motivated solely by religious zeal. 

In times gone by, the most amazing ingenuity of in¬ 
vention and fertility of imagination have been exer¬ 
cised in exploiting the human body’s capacity for 
feeling pain. To the Chinese, torture assumed the 
delicacy and refinement of an aesthetic problem. In 
Europe, the tortures were more gross; but, as revealed 
by the instruments which have survived—the thumb 
screw, the Spanish boot, the Iron Maiden—thoroughly 
effective, and not without imagination. 

Judicial torture in Europe possibly reached its climax 
in the period of the Inquisition and the witch trials of 
the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries. The present 
picture was suggested by the accounts of these trials. 

When a suspected witch was apprehended (according 
to the reports) she was stripped, searched and shaved. 


Her body was carefully examined for unusual marks. 
If any was found, it constituted presumptive evidence 
of converse with the Devil. “On the meaner Proselytes 
the Devil fixes in some secret Part of their Bodies a 
Mark, as his Seal to know his own by.” (Forbes, 1730.) 
The Devil’s Mark is described as being like a flea bite, 
or sometimes as a “blew Spot” like the impression of 
“a Hare’s foot, or the Foot of a Rat or Spider.” Some¬ 
times the searchers found supernumerary breasts or 
“witch paps.” These were even more serious evidence. 

If no marks were found, she was left thus stripped in a 
cell with a peep-hole, through which secret watchers 
took note of her every action and word. Sometimes 
under these conditions she would reveal “Stigma” 
which the searchers had missed; sometimes she would 
betray herself by incautious conversation with the 
Devil or her familiars. 

If the inquisitors still failed to find the evidence they 
sought or to exact a confession, she was subjected to 
the additional persuasion of the torture. After being 
given certain preliminary tortures, she was strung up 
and given a final opportunity to confess and recant. 
This is the moment represented in The Heretic. 

As in the case of the Preparation for the Sabbot , a 
fairly elaborate setting was used. And, in similar man¬ 
ner, the setting was assembled (except for the painted 
background) from everyday materials. A piece of the 
porch railing was taken up and stood on end and the 
victim was lashed to it. The mysterious piece of appara¬ 
tus is merely a dictionary stand. The torture chamber 
of the Inquisition was thus assembled with little diffi¬ 
culty—save for the later inquisition put on by the land¬ 
lord on the subject of the porch railing. 

The nails that penetrate her ankles were accomplished 
by small touches of Alvord’s Opaque on the negative. 
Thus the high-lights were supplied. The shadows and 
heads of the nails added by Abrasion-Tone. By the 
latter process, also, the ropes were made (by altered 
modeling) to imbed themselves more deeply in the 
flesh. 


DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3Vi x 4Vi- 
Lens. Zeiss-Tessar, 6 V 2 inch, f.4.5. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f .8 or f.ll. 

Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 1926. 

Camera distance. Approximately 14 feet. 

Lighting. “Dynamic” light without rear unit. 

Setting. Painted background of rock wall, with sundry properties. 
Developer. Glycin. (For formula see data on Johan the Mad.) 
Time of development. At least two hours. 

Negative control. Use of “Opaque.” 

Projection control. Texture Matrix No. 1. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. (See data on Machia- 
velli.) 

Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone Process. 




















THE VAMPIRE 


V ICTOR HU GO in a letter of apprecia tion addressed 
to Baudelaire testified that the latter had taught 
him “a new shudder.’’ There are certain types 
who seek the grotesque merely to gain this new shud¬ 
der. These are the ones who are consumed with that 
anaemia of the soul, boredom. Their ability to appreci¬ 
ate the quieter sensations has become depleted, and, 
like drug addicts increasing their dose, they are obliged 
to seek new and ever more violent sensations. From this 
group are derived the extremest, most unpleasant, and 
least productive talents of decadent art. Uncreative, 
unsatisfied, they arrive at an exclusive and coprolitic 
devotion to the fruits of the charnel house and the 
morgue. 

Aside from this enervated boredom which leads to 
these dreary excesses, there is boredom of another and 
more vital sort; an active, creative force that leads to 
accomplishment along new lines. Boredom, with the 
prosaic material of the everyday world, with the smug 
limitations of his medium, leads the artist to seek new 
and more expressive forms. Often this search brings 
him to the grotesque. The photographer, bored to dis¬ 
traction by the banalities of realism and the imperi¬ 
ous demands of the Machine, should find grateful re¬ 
lease in the exaggerations of grotesque art. 

The art of the grotesque is not mere morbidity—far 
from it. We do not seek, for example, the purely animal 
shock of photographing the aftermath of automobile 
accidents. Such subject matter would be ideal, if mere 
morbid sensation were the sole aim. But, on the con¬ 
trary, the thing photographed must have pictorial 
merit, and, as a grotesque symbol, it must have mean¬ 
ing. 

I have suggested that grotesque art derives its peculiar 
power from its connection with very primitive human 
fears and impulses. Most potent among these fears is 
the great arch-fear, the great mystery of mysteries, 
death. In grotesque art it is a powerful motive. Indeed, 
some have suggested that the fear of death is the basic 
motive of all art, driving men to try to immortalize a 
little of themselves in material more enduring than the 
flesh. 

Common among primitive peoples is the idea of the 
“dead soul.” This “dead soul,” according to this belief, 
was not transported to a land of the dead, but dwelt in 
or near the corpse. This belief was the original reason 
for tomb building—to furnish the dead soul with decent 
shelter. The tomb was probably the world’s first archi¬ 
tecture. And early religions centered in the tomb. 

As a result of this belief in the “dead soul” there was 
an awe and fear of the dead body. The dead soul might 
be malignant or resentful, and might do harm to the 
living. Even today, many people experience, in the pres¬ 
ence of death, a cold fear that does not admit of rational 
explanation. In one of his magnificent stories of the 

Civil War, filled with subtle intimations of horror, Am¬ 
brose Bierce tells of such an instance; a young soldier 
watching alone at night on a dark road, is driven to 
insane extremity as he becomes obsessed with the idea 


that a two-day-old corpse fifty feet down the road is 
slowly creeping toward him through the shadows. 

This fear of the malignant “dead soul” is expressed in 
the legend of the vampire, one of the most terrible 
beliefs that has come down to us from the remote past— 
the foul corpse, neither living nor dead, that crawls 
from its grave each night to suck the blood of the 
living. 

According to the belief, a person bitten by a vampire is 
apt, on his death, to become one himself. For this 
reason, vampirism is liable to break out in epidemics. 
Such an epidemic occurred in Hungary between 1730 
and 1735. Whole districts in the territory of Transyl¬ 
vania and Tokay were paralyzed with terror; people 
feared to sleep lest they be bitten by vampires, they 
feared to die, lest they turn into vampires. Finally the 
epidemic was eradicated by tearing up graves wholesale 
and destroying all bodies that displayed signs of blood 
or of movement in their coffins. A contemporary ac¬ 
count tells [of such a disinternment as follows: “His 
body was red; his hair, nails and beard had grown again, 
and his veins were replete with fluid blood, which 
flowed from all parts of his body upon the winding 
sheet which encompassed him.” 

There were several methods of destroying vampires. 
(1) The heart was torn out and the body burned. (2) 
Boiling water and vinegar were poured over the grave. 
(3) An aspen stake was driven through the heart, pin¬ 
ing the body to the ground. 

This picture represents a vampire than has been 
destroyed by the stake. The two principal problems in 
arranging it were the make-up and the method of se¬ 
curing the effect of the stake. Necessary for the makeup 
were turkey quills (for the teeth) and a little crepe 
hair. The stake was constructed from cardboard. Torn 
scraps of cardboard glued to the top suggested the 
flattening of the wood where the mallet had been 
applied. By means of triangular tabs at the bottom, 
the stake was glued to the breast. Tomato ketchup 
served for blood. It was poured around the stake to 
conceal the joint, and a small amount was encouraged 
to trickle off the breast. 

DATA. Camera. Soho Reflex, 3 1 /* x 
Lens. Goerz-Dagor, 7 inch. 

Exposure. Approximately one-half second at f.8. 

Film. Agfa par-speed Ortho film pack, 1926. 

Conditions of shooting. Oblique downward shot at model on 
floor. 

Camera distance. Approximately 7 feet. 

# 

Lighting. “Dynamic.” 

Setting. Black background. Grass mats, stone, and other prop¬ 
erties. 

Developer. Glycin, regular formula. (See data on Johan the Mad.) 
Time of development. At least one hour. 

Projection control. Dodging in. Texture Matrix No. 1. 

Printing paper. Defender Velour Black I. 

Print developer. Eastman D-64, B. solution. (See data on Machia - 
velli.) 

Treatment of print. Abrasion-Tone Process. 











































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